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A DRAMA 

IN FOUK ACTS 

KNTITi^ED 

AUGUSTA 

J. VINTON WEBSTER 



AUTHOR OF 



AUGUSTA DANE THE NAMELESS HERO 

GROVER THE FIRST THE HERMIT'S HOME 

AND OTHER STORIES 



san francisco : 
The Hinton Printing Co., 516 Commercial St. 
1903 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 


Two Copies Reoeive«< 


AUG 3 1903 


Copyitglit Entry 
Own . 3- iq o3 
CLAS^ ^ XXcN». 


3. §• 2 
COPY B. 



£37 /) ? 

iefl>3 



; ,5iJ.t<:red according ♦o A-rt of Congress, in the year 1903 

: '. : ; Bv .'. VINTON WEBSTER 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 



R 



CAS7 OF AUGUSTA 



Judge Dane Superior Judge 

Winton Husband of Augusta 

Tom Smith Friend of the Dame family 

Blic Son of Judge Dane 

Hugh Berring. .Saloon-keeper and politician of Virginia City 

Mark Twain Writer and humorist 

Lo Doreno Indian murderer 

Jerry Jessup 

Will Sidden Friends from Kentucky 

Judge Blake Friend and counselor of the Jessups 

Abram Curry Pemitentiary Superintendent, Carson City 

Happy Jack Stage Driver and friend of Berring 

Major Wasson Wit and friend of Mark Twain 

Jack Pot. Gambler, Virginia City 

Sing Roustabout and dishwasher, Carson Prison 

Pat Mooney Carson Prison Steward 

Doctor Duff Prison Surgeon 

Mrs. Dane .wife of Judge Dane 

Augusta daughter of Mrs, Dane 

Helen Jessup sister of Jerry and betrothed of Will Sidden 

Mrs. Alceista . .a busybody 

Mrs. Summerville a cholera patient 

Mrs. Sneider friend of Berring 

Lena assistant cook, Carson Pison 

Musicians, dancers, officers, prisoners, etc. 



J^U^GXJ&^A. 



A. 13 R .A. Nl .A. 



irst F^OILJf^ .fVOTS 



ACT I. 

Scene i, Town of /\lameda. Old Wharf Road, Oakland 
in Distance. 

L'nter Winton, excited. 
Help ! help ! for the love of heaven help ! 

Enter Smith. 
What's the matter, man ; 
That makes yO'U split the air 



With that shrill yell of yours? 

Winton — Hello, Tom ; you come 
As fortune in the nick of time and as 
A friend and wisher for the best, I begf 
Your aid in rescue of my fancy rig 
And fair Augusta, ere the rising tide 
Does sweep them out to sea. 

Smith — Where is the danger? 

Winton — Yonder; on the road 

Smith — What strain or mishap caused the ill? 

Winton — That dark-eyed maiden caused it all ; 
For months I've paid her court most lavishly 
But scarce impression made, and so to trim 
And decorate my love with glint and style 
I faced the random risk of losing my 
Equipage, bright and new from Hawley's, 
And that fine span of spanking bays, bred on 
The blue giass meadows of Kentucky ; 
All of which I fear are lost to me. 

Smith — How came they in the flood? 

Winton — Well, you see, I sped along the road 
That thwarts the eye of Oakland. 
Down to the wharf, with neck and neck of two 
And forty; turning there with graceful curve 
That bulged the eyes of all the passengers. 
Received the sweet Augusta with a bow 



And smile; then yanked myself beside her 

Ribbons taut and bit cigar between 

My teeth and head abaft, we sailed in state 

Along the heaved up streak of spongy bo'g — 

When suddenly the horses shied to- left, 

As startled by a ponderoius gull, dead white, 

Big throated, squalking as he went. 

And thus alarmed, as if the Devil stood 

Upon the track, the team swished sidewise down 

Into- the murky tide, just reaching flood. 

At this my hair stood up like bristles on 

A cornered hog, bayed by a pack of dogs. 

My teeth did chatter as the rattle of 

A saw in running through a hickory knot ; 

While ague fits possessed me like as do 

The callow huntsmen shooting at a deer. 

Augusta, seeing my unseemly plight, 

Drew firmly froim my hands the slackened rein. 

At this I edged out in the flood knee deep 

And started on the run for help — 

Confouind the luck! just see my pants — my boots 

Are ruined with the slush. And all because 

I dared to risk a danger for a woman. 

Smith — Where is the girl? 

^Yinton — Do'wn in the runnir-^-' ' ide 
Behold her holding fast those flound'ring steeds. 
Like Andromeda doomed by Juno. 

Smith — May the Devil take you for 



An escort, ere another ride is yours 
With beaut}^ brave and highly bred — 
But come, ceracious champion! 
The peril thickens round that fair young form — 
I'd wade a thousand tides, with all the mud. 
Of forty fords for such a hanid as hers. 

Uxit Smith and Wiiiton. Unter Mrs. Dane and Son. 

Mrs. Dane — I fear mishap 
Hath befallen to Augusta. 
The ferryboat hath been an hour gone 
And she not yet in sight. 
Go', my son, along the hoglash to 
The wharf and see what ails the missing girl. 

Elic — I guess she's ran away with Winton, mother, 
For I seen the caud, with spanking team, 
Tear by the house, just like a rattled loon 
Full-fledged and making for the tide. 

Mrs. Dane — Curb your jarring tongue, my son, 
And leg it to the wharf in haste. 

Exit. 

Enter Smithy Augusta and Winton. 
Winton — This is a happy rescue. Smith, 
And grateful to* you am I for it 
With Aug^usta as endorser. 
Her dress, just see, perhaps her feet are wet. 
Surely she is nerve strung to the bone 
And would a hero be with breeches on. 



Augusta — The sorry plight my dress is in is of 
No consequence, but rather is it pique 
At this uncanny incident. 
Surely, Mr. Smith, I owe you thanks 
For timely aid in this affair, and shall 
Be pleased tO' see you at my father's house. 
The pretty words of Mr. Winton I 
Will dry for kindling- wood and lay up in 
My memory, for future use when I 
Can eke return of compliment. 

Exit Winton and Augusta. 

Smith — Well, that does beat a Hiodoo farce 
Unknown to blood and thunder ; 
Rather than unstring my joints 
Like that poor chouse, and ape a baby 
Wearing swaddling clothes, I'd surely ride 
My shadow to its grave, and with contrition 
Hari kari out my little soul 
FoT Devil broth, or port it in the boat 
Of silent Charon to the ugly jaws 
Of triple-headed Cerberus. 
The wonder is so' many fools can live 
Upon the earth without a grain of guidance 
Bottomed on conceptions sane. 
A loon that's lost its little wit could cut 
The caper better, shaming all the breed 
Of imbeciles that claim the counterpart of God. 
His thrust at me that I have never been 



In love, is like a breakfast hash, with more 

Of hair and hide than wholesome meat. 

Oh, yes; I've been in love, but since my suit 

Was dubious from start to finish, I , 

Had sense enough to let the jewel go 

When she refused to marry me, and then 

My recompense is this : she's wedded to 

My rival, who with fermentations of 

A brewer's vat, is begging me to help him rid of her 

By planning an elopement, promising 

Full half his wealth to me, with latitude 

A matchless match can make it so. 

But then, I will not thus decree my fate 

To one so fatal in her make-up. 

Exit. 

Act I. Scene 2, Judge Dane's Parlor. 

Enter Wvnton. 

Winton—The home of my sw^eet charmer ! 
How I love the ground on which she treads ! 
Not for the virtue in the rotten earth 
But for the impress of her footprints on it. 
The opportune has come ; my nerves must brace 
Me for this chase, and from the sunny fields 
And verdant meadows of my hopes must house 
The fragrant hay, ere frost or chilling rain 
May intervene to injure it. 



Enter Augusta. 

Winton — My dear Augusta, may I beg of you 
Indulgence for a word, most urgently 
Demanding audience? 

Augusta — If this gem of thought does worry you 
So much in seeking utterance, perhaps 
It is as well to give deliverance and let 
The darling die or live as best it can. 

Winton — Pray, my dear withhold your rasping saws 
And sentimental scrapers, ere I have 
Divulged the purport of my speech. 

Augusta — Then make an end of all this labored breath 
And clothe the thing in raiment more befitting. 

Winton — Then I will say I am in love with you, 
Augusta, all the way from toes to tip 
Of flowers in your hair — stay ! no offense 
I hope, and though return for it may be 
With you as light as an abas in pearls 
Uncut, I will with care convey it to 
A lapidary skillful in his art, 
And beg of him to give it lustre such 
As shall outshine the morning star. 

Augusta — If you can form a star out of a hope 
So frail, its manufacture set about ; 
But do not edge upon enchanted ground 



lO 



That's full of blowholes surely dangerous. 
So kedge your woo and wind the cable up 
That gives it undue latitude. 
A lark that sings to win a linnet from 
Its parent nest is doubtful victory. 

Winton — But if the lark can give the linnet 
Better house and sweeter nest, why should 
The linnet rail against the change? 

Augusta — Gilded halls and divans rich 
No mortgage hold on happiness, and oft 
The thatch-roofed tenement contains more cheer 
And rondeau lines than domiciles of ease 
"W^here luxury does wear its gilded toggery 
And surfeits on its idleness. 
Life hath duties stern, and he 
Wo feeleth not the yoke that urges him 
To carry something of his brother's load 
Is drawing tO' the day of retribution, 
Which God imposes through contrition in 
Another world. 

Winton — And so the split-hoofed idler 
With rasping word, who takes no heed of ills 
That others bear, is but as rubbish of 
The world and worthy omly of the gibes 
The footpad warbles from his throat. 

Augusta — ^The gist of my contention is 
That toil in avenues that helo us all 



II 

To human betterment, hath anchor hold 

In God's ordaining, while the idler 

In poverty or rolling wealth, who hath 

No higher aim in life than selfish ends, 

Does cumber standing gro'Und, ungainly strutting 

And unsung to his distempered grave. 

Winto?! — By all the virgins blest, 
You seem a stranger to your single self, 
With frosty words that chatter all my teeth ; 
Your parents wish this union, why delay 
The word that will complete my happiness? 

Augusta — The reason why I love you not ; 
To' wed a man I do not love would breed 
A rancor in my heart, to fester in 
Your strong embrace and chill my life 
As does a granite wall the myrtle 
Growing north of it. 

Winton — O fie o-n such a badden thoiught ; 
I wish your answer, yes or no, 
Just say the word and then I'll go. 

Augusta — Then go. The berries on this bush of love 
Are green and puckered, sour to the taste. 
To pluck them now would give the colic sure, 
Beyond the cure of sage or catnip tea. 

Exit Winton. Enter Mrs. Dane. 
Mrs. Dane — How now, Augusta? 
Mr. Winton's left the house hufTed to 



12 



The brows, with face as red as snapper on 
A gobbler's snoop. 

Enter Judge Dane. 

Judge Dane — How's this, good brotonoid? 
The night's a herring passes on beyond 
Its dark equator, you seem in truth 
To' be unmindful that the morning star 
Is dimbing up the Orient, and Hke 
A wandering seraph smi'.es upon the world. 
What keeps your inner chamber empty of 
A lovely form? 

Mrs. Dane — Compliments aside 
Though sweet Acarner shines not brighter than 
Your wits, my business here is knowledge why 
Our protege left the house a moment since 
With flaming face and mien that augured not 
His soon return. 

Judge Dane — Speak, Augusta, ere fair Venus rings 
The sable curtain up that ushers in 
Another day, and bids the sun unfold 
The glory of his coming. 

Augusta — I have, my father, not a word to say 
That's worth your time in hearing it. 
Nothing surely have I said to give 
Offense to any man of sense ; a cub 
Or skittish kitten ; simply have I told 
The cole, that if I knew my heart it had 
So far been used but as a pump of life. 



^3 

And manufacture cheer and sympathy 

For those of kin. 

That Cupid's darts were stranger to my blood 

Save when, with pranks, he flitted by my face 

As Morpheus held me in his embrace, 

And that his suit was like the bridle for 

A colt that never had been bitted for 

A ride, and that my mind was firmly set 

On duty here at home and search for lore 

To broaden out my brains. 

Judge Dane — You speak in riddles, girl, 
Like one who has unsteady lodgment on 
A hade, with dress of hackel words, obscure 
And dim of sense. 

You'll stay at home on duty bent, is it? 
Well, then, what is the duty of a child 
In midway teens but to obey and do 
As bid by sire and gentle alma? 
We must presume to judge in this affair, 
Which much concerns us all, and you 
Should cut in twain this caprice 
Coddled in the mind abo'Ut those evanescent 
Dreams of love that lives in thatch-roof 
Cots, or begs in squalor on the streets. 
Lay off this stale romance of former age, 
When sonnet did charm a foolish peasantry, 
And knighthood, dressed in breechclouts. 



14 



Rode on fiery steeds into the thickest 

Fight, that valor might a buxom 

Beauty win, bedecked in skins about 

The waist, with breast and shinbones 

Brown and bare and shoeless feet 

All sprawling at the toes. 

This is an age of sterner stuff, and he 

Who sows the wind must reap where 

Nothing grows, unless it's gleanings of 

Another's field. 

Utility is shrouding for the grave 

All sentiment, and those who hold 

The pursestrings of the world own all 

Things else. Virtue offers tribute there 

And manhood, once so common in this 

Land, holds out its pleadmg hand for 

Dole of work or stinted substance. 

The flood-tide in each life is when 

The current runs his way, and he who 

Lingers by the flowing stream in haggle 

For the start, has lost his opportunity. 

Much more*s the fear for womanhood. 

She must accommodate the time in which 

She lives. She is a plaything in the hands 

Of ruthless fate, without discretion in 

Affairs of childish love, when chance does offer 

Opportunity to marry well. 

What will you do in this affair? 



15 

Speak plainly, here and now, 

Augusta — My noble father, surely would 
I not in aught offend against your will, 
Obedient in all things my aim in life 
Has ever been to serve my home and those 
In duty bound I am to serve, 
Withhold not then, I do implore, 
A daughter's right to choose, or not 
To choose, as seemeth best to^ her in 
All affairs relating to the heart. 
Your counsel, always wise, I will admit, 
But this concern of yours concerns me 
Most, and all mistakes of act are at 
My cost. 

Judge Dane — Fie on you, girl ! 
Abjure this fake of yours ! Know 
Thou, success in every line of life 
Succeeds by dint of wit, dovetailed about 
With policy, deep seated in the mind. 
Fortune, fickle ever, seemeth most 
•Secure when sitting at the feet of him 
Who favors most his own. 
The talisman that leads tO' gilded halls 
Is cunning brains distilled in selfishness, 
Wherein, all softer sentiment eats up 
Its self, as does an eel in hunger 
Gulp its tail. 

Augusta — Presume I not tO' say that judgment 
Is profound in thee, my father ; 



i6 



I^ut then how can 1 see so high above 
My head? 

How can a glowworm wear a Hon's mane? 
Or lily bloom above the tallest pines? 
God fixed the measure of each thing's 
Estate to fill its mission in its given 
Sphere. So t-ach should not reproach 
The other for its moods, environed as it is 
For good or ill, and naught can 
Make it otherwise. 

I am a woman, have a woman's ways ; 
Though frail she is and given to conceits 
Her life is love, and she who loves the 
Most in all things pure and sweet does 
Live in truth the nearest God's design. 
So it seems to me that no onie has 
The right to sear her heart with ulcers 
Bred by stopping up its portals in a 
Match that soul and sense abhor. 

Judge Dane — Ah ! well do I observe 
That you can summarize as well as spin. 
Perhaps I am unduly anxious in this 
Smudge foi' gain and will not press 
The matter further in this morning 
Measure of the night. So take more council 
With yourself. Educate your wits to view 
Unbiased stern utility, that holds humanity 
In the hollow of its hand, and be not 



17 

Stiff and willful to a selfish end that 
May embarass all my future plans. 
Good night and may the morning bring 
You better council. 

Exit all. 



Act I, Scene 2. A Street Scene. 

Enter Winton and- Smith (Winton prancing about). 

Smith — Where get you all this supple 
Marrow mani, that does outdo the 
Shindigs of a crazy loon? 

WintonY evily it may be so. 
Hardly snug can I contain myself. 
The hills are green with hope again, 
And light breaks on my soul like some 
Bright summer day injected at 
The winter solstice. 

Smith — How so? 

Winton — Did you ever see the corn in bloom 
At Christmas, or the crocus bell break through 
The drifting snows before the vernal 
Equinox began to think of spring? 
Thus seems it now with me. Ambrosia 
Grows apace ; the linden buds, the lilies bloom, 
And stern old Boreas bears the ugly night 
Of death into the frozen world, and hangs 



i8 

The horror splintered on the northern pole. 

Smith — Lord save the mark! 
In pity hold this chant to smug 
Your temper on a rainy day, and give 
Me pith of what you're shying at. 

Winton — What am I shying at 
Say, good friend, I'll wager my roan horse 
Against two little pigeon toes that you 
Have never been in love in all your life. 
Unless it was with leaks and onions, 
Peppered with your spicy temper. 
Well, then, to brief it for your sake, 
Will say, Augusta, queen of manly hearts — 
No fairer in the land — I've looped with my 
Existence as a mate to run the race 
Of life for stakes my father holds. 
Fortune is a shining charmer in 
A fickle world, and he who catches her 
Should be content with self and all things else. 
For surely he has seized the forelock of 
His opportunity! 

Yea, Gods in ecstasy, all working on 
The remnants of the world could not produce 
Another such as she ! 
Her words fall like the harmony 
Of some old song — remembered since 
The world was young. 



19 

Pray, Smith, go hug yourself till breath 
Comes back to me again. 

Smith — With what uncommon skill of magic did 
Yo'U use to baffle common sense and beat 
The necromancer in a race for love. 
Without a leg to run upon? 

Winton — How did I win her? 
Ask these whispering oaks, 
They know the story all by heart. 
For once they were as young as we and were 
In lo've with sentiment, so here have stood 
With open ears foT centuries and heard 
The simple swain and maiden stories, long 
Fo'rgotteni, save by them and moving ticks 
That sing their requiem forever here. 
But tO' be a little more precise 
I'll give a hint of how the thing is did, 
So yoti, perhaps, may profit by the line 
When Cupid finds you in a melting mood. 
'Tis this. If you would ever surely win 
A maiden, woo her mother first and as 
You gO' blaze well the way to minds and hearts 
Utilitarian by show in hand 
Of substance rich or which comes by quick 
Inheritance, for money in this world 
Does take more tricks in gambling of this kind 
Than cooing with the tender plant of love. 



20 

These elder people oince had sent'ment. 

Perhaps in Cupid's hands entrusted, 

But lengthy steep in life's realities 

Doth brave the strength the little god contains 

And sets the heart en something more secure. 

My father's rich ! That is the shining tail 

That wags all worldly dogs and surely finds 

A woman primping much tO' catch the cade 

P'or pith of every daughter's dower. 

And SO' another moon with all its change 

And fickleness, will hardly shine and wane 

Again before I call her legally 

My own, when like the droning bee that sips 

The dreamy sweets of rose or poppy bloom, 

I'll while away the fleeting hours. 

Exit. 

Enter Augusta. 

Augusta — Well, 
It seems I'm to be a victim to 
That monster bred in Hades, having aims 
No higher than the dross and glum of cold utility. 
O sweet heaven! couldst thou straighten out 
The crooks and warps that puny pride and greed 
Have seared with shame and wrinkled on the world's 
Affairs, and let simplicity and love 
Of right prevail again, God's work 
In man's uplifting would be manifest. 



21 

The life environed that a woman leads 

Does often turn to gall the impulse of 

Her bleeding heart and makes a mockery 

Of marriage worse than bonds of precedent 

That in some tribes yet bear her trembling form 

To breathe its last, and, black with su^ocation. 

Moulder in the rotten earth beside 

A tyrant dead. 

Perhaps it may be for the best, who knows? 

So frail are we in judgment that the sage 

Is often short in demonistratiom of 

A single truth. So we tramp the path 

Of all the millions passed without a guide 

To point the way that each should surely go, 

Poior, puny man ! And yet is full of pride ! 

Ah, well ! there seems no other route for me 

Than that my austere father has prescribed. 

May scanty hope and t me but ease the pain 

Of this great sacrifice, for hope is all 

There is of dayl ght in this world of mental gloom 

That shadows all the landscape of my life ; 

Surely there is recompense fcr duty 

Well perfoTmied, else heaven is a myth 

And virtue but a passing dream. 

The benefit of doubt in this affair 

I'll give my counselor and yield to him 

My callow judgment, but whatever else 

May fail me in this tribulation 



22 

Truth and duty, ever foremost in 
The best resolves, shall be the pole star of 
My destiny, as follows forth the trusting 
Mariner the bearings of his steadfast 
Compass, however rough the surging seas 
With troubled waters. 

Act I, Scene 4. Room in Judge Dane's House. 
Enter Winton and Augusta. 

Winton— hike some silurian of 
The under world with light and shadow mixed, 
The earth, with oscillating dips and turns, 
Has doubled round the sun two several times 
Since first we knew the bl'ss of wedded life. 
So far so good, 

But then the world is not quite all a dream. 
The rasping sear of dull, cold facts intrude 
Continually their ugly faces, 
And mix the sweet and wormwood so together 
That life does hold the scale 0(f good and ill 
About in even balance. 
But be this as it may. 
With shay and spavined horses we 
Have rolled the dusty road that seems to link 
Lrike umbil cord our father homes, until 
The stay is doubtful welcome to us both. 
So I must turn another leaf in life's 
Erratic volume, ere it be too late 



To keep the company of self-respect ; 

And since my sire seems a little curt 

And mdispO'sed to lax the taut upon 

His pursestrings aiding in my betterment 

I see no other way along this rough 

And flinty track than taking up the cinch 

And riding stride myself. 

And since there seems no other route to better 

This predicament, 1 have resolved 

To take a tramp acro'ss the cloiud-bound snows 

That hedge us from that wonderland where all 

The hills are ribbed with shining ore and laked 

About with slumps of puddled silver. 

Augusta — Emergencies make men, sometimes 
Of timber not selected from the best, 
So I concur in yonr resolve. 

Enter Judge Dane and wife. 

Judge Dane — Indulge us for this rash intrusion 
For I hear you do propose a jourmey 
To the wilds of Old Nevada, where 
Now centers much of worldly thought and hope 
Of gain beyond the shadow of a want. 

Winton — True, indeed, I go, 
As one oppressed with weight of care for one 
So surely mine. 

The wolf is in the fold of my estate 
With teeth all set to chew the ragged end 



24 

Oi nothitiig which is dowery from my sire. 

Mrs. Dane — Your wealthy father might 
Afford yowr land and stock and shelter for 
A time, until by dint of care you could 
Secure a comj>etence. 

Winton — Sweet mother of my ablative, 
In all thy learning didst thou ever hear 
Of the accipitrine, in science called 
A tchuck, a species of the marmot tribe, 
And brought from Persia centuries since? 
If not advised, please read up on this score 
And you will comprehend the make-up of 
The average man when he hath wealth 
Beyond the normal lust of common need. 

Mrs. Dane — And of Augusta, what becomes of her? 

Winton — As with a lovely plant, 
Full blown in some rare garden of the gods, 
Untimely rooted up and robbed of all 
Its fresher sweets, the chief concern shall be 
For knack of my abiUty to make 
Provision foT her coming. 
And in abeyance do I wish 
To place your tender care about this gem 
Of aromatic growth unused to storm 
Or biting frost. 

Mrs. Dane — ^Be it so. She is my blood 
And whiat I have is hers, for mother is 



25 

The counterpart in name for love of those 
She gave to life. 

Judge Dane — Then speed you onward, 
Hope we always good will come of it. 

Winton — So, so. It's settled now. Good-bye to all, 
And may I live forever green in your 
Sweet memory, my dear Augusta. [Kisses her.] 
Exit all. 

(Song.) 

I cannot love, for once I loved 

A laddie in the mountains. 
He lived where all the hills were groved 

And waters flowed from fountains. 
And on and on the streamlets ran 

To join the brimming river — 
Forever ! O Forever ! 
And on and on the streamlets ran 

To join the brimming river. 

I told him that I loved him so 

I never could another^ 
And wheresoever he sho-uld go 

I wished to be his — mother. 
And on and on the streamlets ran 

To join the brimming river — 
Forever ! O Forever ! 
And on and on the streamlets ran 

To join the brimming river. 



26 



He seemed the picture of despair 

Amd sought to soothe him lonely, 
When, shook his head with saddest air 

And said he loved one only. 
And on and on the streamlets ran 

To join the brimming river — 
Forever ! O Foirever ! 
And on and on the streamlets ran 

To join the brimming river. 

So mourned he for one love long lo'st 

And I for one consuming, 
And thus came chill and bitter frost 

When lilac buds were blooming. 
And O'U and on the streamlets ran 

To join the brimming river — 
Forever ! O Fore^^er ! 
And on and on the streamlets ran 

To join the brimming river. 



Act I, Scene 5. Hotel Office. Sacramento. 

Enter Augusta. 
Augusta (to the Clerk) — Can you tell me 
Something of the route and company 
I will have in transit to Virginia City? 

Clerh — The grades are steep, 
But not severe in rut and rock ; 



27 

With curves and windings 'mid the hills and peaks 

And depths of God's great abyrinths of pine 

And cedars planted there befoire the flood, 

Which speak of might and call tO' worship high 

Above the steepled church each passenger 

Who loveth nature in its majesty. 

As to yo'ur company, I cannot tell 

Except this gentleman who goes to-day — 

Mr. Berring, this is Mrs. Winton, 

On her way to Virginia City 

To meet her husband, who's residing there. 

A stranger to the route, she seeks tO' know 

Its difficulties and the company 

That stages it this morning. 

Berring — Glad I am to meet you, Mrs. Winton, 
Your husband is a friend of mine. 
The jo'Urney is not difficult and on 
The way there are so many grand surprises 
Topped with God's magnificence that in 
Their view odd Time forgets the countinig of 
His lagging hours. 
Your company it does appear will be 
Indififerent. The iron-nerved 
And skillful driver, Charlie, holds the reins, 
So, the score is safe in that direction. 
I will be a passenger and beg 
The privilege tO' serve ycur smallest need. 

Augusta — I think my needs will be a cipher, since 



2S 

Provision ample's fully made and all 
My bag^gage checked. 

Exit Aiigusta. 

Berring (to Clerk) — By jingo ! she's a gem 
All cut with setting golden. Not a flaw 
Or break in all her make-up. Seemmgly 
A little cold and formal surely, but 
I'll bet a keg of sparkling rye that ere 
We reach Virginia City she will tame 
A bit in her austerity. 

Clerh — Be cautious, Fredy. 
That man of hers may lay you out 
In winding-sheets before you are aware 
Of it, and of your stock in trade consume 
The contents of a brandy barrel in 
Preserving what is left of you. 

Berring — I know the chappie well, 
And have no' fear of shot or shell 
In his employ. Vanity does rock 
Him in her cradle with a lullaby, 
In which he dozes dreamily as does 
A pig that's full of milk. 

Act I, Scene 6. Cape Horn, Sierra Mountains. 
Enter Two Bobbers. 
First Bobber — Well, pal ; how long 



29 

Have you followed the trade of road 
Agent? 

Second Robber — Seven vears. 

First Robber — What induced this calling? 

Second Robber — The Devil. 

First Robber — How so? 

Second Robber — By hedging me about 
With conditions damaging. 

First Robber — Fie on you man ! Your 
Trumpery answers nothing — wherein lies 
The pith of your speech? 

Second Robber — Well, my father did to his 
Advantage kick the scuttle early. Mother 
Was devoted, with a sister loving, who^ 
Rustled for me. while the days passed as 
vSo many dreams without a care for those 
Who toiled that T might have repose. 
Unhappily my mother died and sister 
Spliced another man. Then sat I on the 
Hollow of a log and whittled sticks 
In cogitationi of my lost supports. 
And how to live a gentleman without 
The grime of toil. My kin and friends 
Did stake me for a time but soon they 
Gave me shoulder colder than a clam. 
Then hired out as clerk in Randolf's 
Country store for board and clothes. 



30 

This drudgery and lack of means did grind 

Me to the quick and soured all my 

Better self. 

The pressing need of moiney caused me 

Cinch the till, with hope that cunning 

Would avail against dishomesty. 

But Nemesis followed me so closely 

That suspicion camped along my track. 

And finally pounced down upon my 

Robberies. 

At this I skipped like antler hounded 

To the hills and took a cue as agent 

On the road. And you? 

First Robber — Oh, my pedigree is 
Brief, and full of kinks. 
I had no father and my mother 
Housed with chumps, whose only virtue 
Was in waiting oppoTtunity to steal. 
Thus environed, is there wo'nder that 
I graduated early, starting out 
As fortune hunter with a burglar's kit? 
But why bemoan a lurid destiny? 
We are as debris on a flooded stream 
That moves forever, witht the current 
Leading, swinging round the eddies as we go 
To Erebus, or led by a thread to Lacheris — 
But hold ! The stage grinds round 
The Cape and opportunity is pricking 



31 



Up his ears, so hide we and await 
The issue. [Secrete themselves.] 



Act I, Scene 7. Mountain Pass. Enter staige with pas- 
sengers. Two robbers appearing by the roadside. 

First Rohler — Hold your horses, 
Stranger, and throw us out the box 
Of boodle ! 

Stage Driver — 'Tis light to-night 
And will not pay your plunder. 

Robber — No mincing words but pungle. 
Or I'll bore you full of holes. 

Stage Driver — All right, put up your 
Gun. More holes would make me less 
A man and may be measure me a box. 
Here is the wallet. Gorge all you can 
And take the consequences. 

Second Robber (peering in the stage) — 
Who's in the dugout? 

Berring — A lady and myself. 

Robber — Then condescende to alight myself, 
And lady ditto. 

Berring — You wouldn't harm a 
Lady, surely? 

Robber — Mum, bind your chops, you 



Z2 

Skipjack, or else I'll go through 

You with dose ol brimstone and metallic 

Salts, so get out double quick. 

And you, miss, madam, follow suit ! 

Augusta — For what reason shall I 
Leave the stage? If robbery is your 
Purpose, here's my purse and all 
1 have of value. 

Robler — The purpose is my own and 
Best it is that you obey my order ! 

(Augusta alights. Robber peers in her face.) 
By Garry ! she's a duck of the first 
Water ! Fit to be companion of an 
Agent moist accomplished in his art. 
From railroad president up to those 
Who live more leisurely among the hills. 
A kiss I crave just now, and more 
Substantial s afterwards. (Takes hold of Augusta.) 

Berring — Hold, damn villain ! How dare 
You touch a hair of hers ! 

(They fight and Berring swings the robber over a 
yawning precipice. In the melee the horses run away, 
throwing Augusta to the grouuid. First robber and 
Berring empty their pistols at each other over the pros- 
trate form of Augusta, then clinch and a desperate strug- 
gle ensues. Finally Berring swings the robber over the 
precpice, barely saving himself by clinging to a sapling 
on the brink.) 



33 

Berring — By the holy cross 
That is business worthy of a Titan! 
The robbers and the stage are gone, 
Mrs. Winton,, swooning-blank with fear. 
And I a wounded cripple. 
How can I aid her? I'll try a sprinkle 
Of this snow upon her upturned face, 
Perhaps it may rescuscitate. 

Augusta (sitting up) — Where am I? 

Berring — On top the Sierras, alone with 
Me, after a tug with the robbers. 

Augusta — Oh, yes: 1 do remember something 
Of it now; but then it seems the 
Shadow of a dream more than reality. 
Where is the sta!§:e? 

Berring — The horses frightened at 
The belching guns, with willing driver, 
Treked it down the grade at breakneck speed. 
WHeVe they now are T know not. 

Augusta — Where are the robbers? 

Berring — Gone down that blufif tO' 
And dine to-morrow with the devil. 

Augusta — What caused the fight? 

Berring — Perhaps you will remember that 
The burly fellow harshly bid you leave 
The stage, and while, with chiseled features, 
Leaning on the muddy wheel, he peered 



I 



34 

With lustful eyes into your marble face, 

And, seizing hold about the waist, did seek 

Pollution of your lips, with snoup and breath 

That garlic could in measure sweeten. 

While using coarser words of action 

Baser afterward. 

I could no longer stand this gibe of hell, 

With his efifrontery. 

My mother was a woman, pure and good, 

And since her love and ministration 

Settled like a hallow on my heart, 

I dare all things where virtue is at stake. 

And therefore bid a bold defiance to 

The chit. 

My clutch about the gullet forced 

His breath into a whistling calliope. 

This loosed his hold on you, and, struggling for 

The' brinking of that yawning precipice, 

Fortune favored me and started down 

To Pluto with the robber. 

The first disposed, the second came, 

With blazing gun, and saddled for a ride 

To death or victory. Our pistols met 

And belched their shot and sulphur smoke 

Across your prostrate form. 

Then empty iro^n battered on our heads 

Like tattoos on a kettle drum. 

The clinch — it came at last! 

And each did struggle manfully to save 



35 

His ugly fortune, balanced in the scale, 

So evenly that hope stood still as when 

An earthquake plows its passage through the earth 

With ridging waves beneath the helpless feet. 

At every turn we nearer margined on 

The brink of that destructive fall ; 

Then came the tug that told for time 

And for eternity. 

By movement quick and dextrous, I sent 

Him whilrling to his vicious comrade down 

A thousand feet below, and by a skint 

Oi chance was left behind him short of breath 

And coatless, hanging to that tree. 

Augusta — Are you hurt? 

Berring — Oh, well. T think not seriously. 
My shoulder's cut acro'ss, and gun shot 
Tn my arm. 

Augusta — Where ? 

Berring — (pulling of¥ the residue of his coiat and ex- 
hibiting a bloody shirt sleeve) — Just here. 

Augusta — The blood flows freely, and with 
This flounce I'll bind it up securely. 
(Tears flounce ofif of her dress.) 

Stage V river (in the distance) — Hello, there, Mr. Ber- 
ring! Are you dead entirelv? 

Berring — No, no; not quite, 



36 

Charlie. Where is the sta^e? 

Stage Driver — Around the curve, full half a mile. 

Berring — Round your team, and back it quickly. 

Stage Driver — Never a bit ! The road is so narrow 
that a frog with a long tail could not make the turn. 

Berring — I fear the ladv cannot walk so far. 

Mrs. Winton — Yes, I feel quite strong. 
That snow bath did its work completely. 
Exit all. 

Act 2, Scene i. Virginia Crty. 
Enter Berring and Mark Twain. 

Mark Twain — Hello, Fritz. 
How do you curb the und(ammed current of 
Your love since making that great conquest on 
The mountain top? 

Berring — The conquest you suggest 
Is ail within the hollow^ of your strained 
Imagination, long diseased. 
By breeding myths and spooky hoboes. 

Mark Twain — Oh, Albion, great Son of Neptune! 
Dt? forbear to smear vour skillet sauce 
On spongy bread that's buttered twice. 
It w^as conveyed to me by simple word 
And paper squib that you in brave defense 



37 

Of womanhood had g.'ven quietus to 
Two robbers, and had wo'n a lovely one, 
Unwooed before by manly action. 

Berring — Mo^st certainly. 
There was a woman in the case ; 
A jewel surely rare upon the earth,. 
But husbaned by another man, and I 
A simple worshiper, and, vain of hope 
As drivinig Ethan throiigh the clouds, 
She thanked me condescendingly for all 
The service rendered. No'thing moire of this 
There is, I can assure you. 

Mark Twain — How is your hurt? 

Berring — Improving rapidly. 

Mark Twain — What kind of rag 
Is that you have aroimd it? 

Berring — It is a tuck 
From that fair woman's gown. 
Discovermg my predicament, 
She ripped it at a jerk and bound it on 
My arm to swage the running blood. 

3Iar]c Tiualn — I'll give you half an ounce of gold for it, 

Berring — W h eref or ? 

Mark Twain — Oh, I simply wish it as 
A souvenir to show my friends how much 
There is in human nature to admire 



38 

And measure up the breadth of gallantry 

Of man for woman wrong-ed, without the hope 

Or lingering wish for recompense. 

Berririg — Hold, man! Go take a Hammam bat.i, 
And wash this jaundice from yC'Ur scurvy blood 
That blurs the wits and makes a little shad 
Of common sense. 

This rag to you is nothing, while to me 
It's much, and all your wealth could not secure 
A shred of it. 

Marl: Twain — Dispel your jealousy, my boy. 
I see I've struck a tender spot in your 
Anatomy; but let me give you just 
A little poser. Didst thcu ever see 
A pair of breeches full of love and fury? 
Set off dynamite with fuse and shell, 
Or ford a river Rowing into- hell? 
If so, and dread such consequence 
Then give a married womafu room to spread 
Herself as does a trapper wing his net ; 
But never be a thing so foolish as 
The chippering quaik to seek the dismal fork 
Of such calamity. 

The green-eyed monster, warmed a.nd hatched 
By ugly fantasies, would range the depths 
Of pandemonium to reach his cuckler, 
The earth does reek with blood of victims 
Slaughtered on the vile and crooked paths 



39 

Of libertines, while heaven's justice 
Seemingly approves their taking off. 

Berring — Whence turned vou thus a moralist, 
And bulge Pandora's box of ills for all 
Who dare to court a lovely woman not 
His own ; and if he can cut loose a bond 
Of hers that makes a marriage but 
A mockery of love ! 
Be doine with this arrav of virtue which 
Is stranger to your blood and ill becomes 
Your father's scald-headed progeny. 
I have no ill design, nor w^ould I harm 
The smallest hair of fair Augusta's head ; 
But since the noble soul of Cataline 
Was taken far beyond the vaulted 
Ether chambers in the universe 
or God that separates the burning stars, 
No form or face, in my esteem, does whet 
To life again the deep regard in which 
I hold her, as this gem revealed to me 
Most strangely opportune. 
I know and watch my ropes as do^es 
A sailor on a doubtful sea where tides 
Nor winds make not a swell upon the deep, 
Unseen nor heeded not bv him. 
Besides, my antecedents are as good 
As hers ; for there does run within my veins 
The blue blood of a line of kings. 



40 

Caped with tone, unsullied doAvn to date. 
So, Clemens, lose no sleep on my account. 
A coon of my proportions never sticks 
His head into a trap set as a snare 
To catch a cotton tail. 

Mark Ttuain — Oh, blame your titled 
Imbeciles and sceptered monarchies. 
The pa,£^e of history does reck with them, 
Remembered mostly for their tyrant strut 
And bitterness of soul. 

The kings of men are those who dare the right. 
And damn a wronig or poltroon anywhere. 

Exit Clemens. 

Enter Winton. 
Winton — Glad to meet you, Berring. 
I came to thank you for the favor dome 
My wife, and bring from her congratulations. 
Your wound is healing rapidly, it seems ; 
And with the poultice off the scar will be 
A souvenir to show your friends in years 
To come, while eloquently rehearsing 
The story of your prowess. 
But, vv'ith ail your service, came I for 
Another favor that much concerns 
My future welfare. 

Berring — Name the service I can render you. 

Winton — The place not being yet filled. 



41 

1 seek the Governor's appointment to 
The office of County Clerk. 
And, fully comiprehending value of 
Support of yours, 1 ask it as a friend. 

Berring — Though hedged about with applications for 
The place, you hold my preference. 
And, having now the Governor's ear, I think 
I can secure you that appointment. 
But before I promise sure I wish 
A word with yoii about a matter 
Vital to your future. 

Winton — Proceed. I am all ears tO' hear 
Your candid counsel. 

Berring — 'Tis well. Your wife is handsome. 
The fairest in the towni, and even now 
Has full a score of men half rattled when 
They bow or chance a word with her, yet 
You keep the treasure, unsuspecting, in 
This crow'ded hostelry. 

You tramp about the streets in search of work. 
And do allow her doubtful company. 
Instead of taking pains to go with her 
Yourself, which half discretion would suggest. 

Winton — Her breed is good. 
And virtue steadfast as a star. Why then 
Suspect the sun of sheer inconstancy, 
Because its golden light doth gild and warm 



42 

The blackened world? 

Berring — I do concede the beauty of 
The parallel, but in the bottom runs 
Of human nature conscience has no place, 
And even higher in the scale of life 
The animal does sway its destiny. 
When sense of soul and common honesty 
Forsake it m pursuit of ghoulish lust 
And strife for g-ain abnormal. 

The spirit may be willing, but all flesh 

Is weak, and it is not uncommon that 

The drifted snow grows murky under heat 

And dust ; the lily taints in company 

With fungus growth and deadly upas. 

So he who loves a woman or a garden 

Pure and sweet must love the welcome care 

And labor that will keep them so. 

The fool who leaves his fairest jewels where 

The conmion herd can see and finger them, 

Excites a disposition to purloin. 

Candidly, I like your wife, and from 

My knowledge of the sordid make-up of 

The world, I know the danger she is in 

And warn you now in time. 

Get yourself a home and mind 

You nurture it with circumspection 

Mingled in with love and gentleness. 

Which will, if persevered, bring down the stars 



43 

Or take yon up to them. 

Winton — Your words are wisdom of 
The better sort and heed I will with thanks 
Your timely warnings. 

Exit all. 

Act 2, Scene 2. A Ballroom, Gold Hill. 
Enter Pat O'Riley, singing. 

The zephyr plays among the hills. 

The swain his g'irl caresses ; 
And dallies, while old time he kills, 

In playing with her tresses. 

The stakes are set up on every grade 
And claims hold down the dollars, 

While women on the streets parade 
To catch defenseless fellows. 

Then up with hats ! the winter's past, 
The springtime brings the clover; 

While every man has hope at last 
And everv lass her lover. 

Clialinchalay chalinctum dell, 

We're on the brimming river. 
That floiats all souls to ill or well, 
And this goes on forever, 
And this goes on forever. [Dances.] 



44 

The bi^ four ride the Conistock lode. 

And claim they have a billion; 
While splitting stocks with silver goad 

To satisfy the million. 

They buck the tiger of the band, 
With Flood tide swimming fences, 

While Johnny digs and whispers loud 
And Jamey takes their senses. 

Then up with hats ! the winter's past, 
The springtime brings the clover; 

While every man hath hope at last, 
And everv lass her lover. 

Chalincturn lay, chalinctum dell, 

We're on the brimming river, 
That floats all souls to ill or well, 

And this goes en forever, 

And this goes on forever. 

[Dances off the stage.] 

Enter Bandmaster, music and dancers of every grade 
and dress. J 

Bandmaster — Take your partners for a quadrille. 
(Music.) First four right and left. 
Second four. 
Ladies change. 
Gents . 



45 

Enter Lo Loreno (intox"catecl, approaching Mrs. 
Winton on the flo'Or.) 

Loreno — Biieno, seniorita ; heap nice. 
Give me a kiss. (Takes hold of Augusta.) 

Jerry Jesswp (partner of Mrs. Winton) 
Scoundrel ! how dare you in,sult a lady? 
(Knocks Loreno down. A g-eneral melee; several shots 
fired ; ladies scream ; leave the room in confusion.) 
Exit all. 



Act 2, Scene 3. A CTaming Hoiise. 
Enier Jerrv Jessuv (intoxicated.) 

Jessup — Mv purse is low and spirit 
Bad, and so for change I'll try 
My luck in bucking: at this monte bank. 
Heres an eagle, 'tis the last I have, 
And so I'll drop it on this ace of 
Hearts. 

Enter Will Sidden. 

Sidden — Hold there, Jerrv ; 
You are seas over, so you'll bet 
No more to-night. Come home with me. 

Gamhler — Sir, what right have you 
To break my game with this impertinence? 
Sidden — I beg a pardon, but this is 



46 

My friend, and as you see, he's sheeted 
In the wind without a tiller wheel. 
Come pike, let's worry homeward. 
(Piills Jessup from the room.) 

Enter Lo Loreno. (Aside.) 

Dis pike's de humbra hit me at 
De ball (exhibiting a big knife), 
T kill him for it now in dis black night. 

Exit. 



Act 2, Scene 4. A Dark Street. 

Enter Bidden and Jessup (Jessup drunik, Sidden pulling 

him.) 

Sidden — Come along, Jerry, the night 
Dreary and the wind is high. 

Jessup — Oh, you-you too-too da-dam 
S-smart, Sidden. A f el-low ca-can't 
Ha-have a good ta-time withou-out 
You po-pokmg you-you no-nose int-to 
Someb-body else b-lnisiness. 

Sidden — Come, come, Jerry, what would 
Your mother and sister think if they 
Should behold you thus? 



47 

Enter Lo Lor em (slipping aloiig in the darkness stabs 
Jessup in the back and disappears.) 

Jesmp (faUing to the ground)— O God ! 
Tm stabbed to death ! 

Siclden — Where? 

Jessup— In the back. Draw the knife 
Before I die. 

Sidden (drawing out the knife, cries)— Help ! 
Help! murder! murder. 

Enter Policeman. 

Foliceman — What's the matter here? 

Sidden— My friend has been stabbed 
To death by some villain slipping 
Up behind 

Policeman — What are vou doing 
With that bloody knife? 

Sidden— \Why, I just pulled it 
Out of my friend's back. 

Policeman— A pretty story, surely. 
I have caught you in the very act 
Of murder. Come with me. 

Sidden— Caught me in the act of murder. 

How? 

Policeman— You still retain the bloody knife 
With clothes bespattered with the 
Gore. 



48 

Sidden — The charge is false as hell ! 
He is my friend, whom I was leading 
Home, half drunk, from Tnpper's gambling 
Hall. 

Policeman — Your story is too thin for surface 
Diggins in these parts, so come to jail.. 

Exit. 



Act 2, Scene 8. Kentucky Home of the Jessups. Mrs. 
Jessup, an invalid. 

Enter Helen Jessup. 
Helen — Dear mother, after months 
Of waiting I have a letter here 
Received to-day from those we love, 
Who dwell in that far region of the 
West w^here daylight glows her final 
Ending, when the curtain of the night 
Is stretched midway the ocean. 

Mrs. Jessnp — Read the letter, my daughter, 
This suspense oppresses me. 

(Helen breaks the seal and glances over its contents, 
much agitated.) 

Mrs. Jessup — Helen, I bid you read 
The letter to me without delay. 

Helen — I can not, mother; it would 
Kill you. 



49 

Mrs. Jessup — Give me the letter immediately. 
(Helen hands the letter to her mother and bows her 
head in her parent's lap.) 

Mrs. Jessup (reads, screams) — O God! it is 
All over with me now ! (Dies taken off the stage.) 

Enter Squire Blake. 

Squire Blake — Well, Miss Helen., 
I come to offer condolence regarding- 
The loss of your noble mother, and 
I understand you have another trouble 
Outlined in a letter recently received 
From friends in the far West, which 
Seems to have been the chief cause of 
Your parent's untimely taking off. 
Will vou give me some detail of this 
Unhappy affair? 

Helen — Here is the letter that killed 
My mother, and the incentive that 
Impels me to visit Nevada. 

(Squire Blake reads.) 

Virginia City, Aug. 26, 1861. 
My Dear Helen: 
Since I last wrote 

You a great calamity has overtaken us. 
Two years agO' the 29th of April last 
Your Brother Jerry was fatally stabbed 
On a public street of this city, he 



50 

Falling from my arms and dying almost 

Immediately, without speaking more than a word. 

I got nothing save a glimpse ol 

The murderer, as he approached us from - 

Behind, stabbing Jerry in the back, 

Then disappearing like a shadow in 

The blackness of the dreary night. 

Thoughtlessly I withdrew the lo.ng dirk 

From the wound and yelled murder. 

At this several citizens ran to our 

Relief, and with them a policeman 

Who observing me with the bloody 

Knife in hand, charged me with the 

Crime, and conveyed me to the lockup, 

Where I have been detained ever 

Since. 

In a trial before the United States District 

Co'Urt I have been found guilty as 

Charged, and sentenced for a term 

Of three years at hard labor in the 

Territorial prison, near Carson City, 

Which is nearly ready for occupancy. 

I am sure this recital will be a blow 

Terrible to yourself and mother. 

I have delayed writing for months, 

Hoping a favorable turn in my case, 

But the burden of proof seems to be 

Against me, and everybody is so busy 

With his own affairs that a jury would 



51 

Agree to hang a saint rather than 

Be detained twenty-four hours. 

So, in justice to you, however trying- 

The OTdeal, I feel duty bound to give 

You the facts. 

I ,hope your verdict will be reserved 

Until }cu learn more of this matter. 

If I cannot prove my innocence ; if 

I am to go tlirough life with the verdict 

Of vour brother's blood en my hands, 

Death can be my o-nlv consolation in 

This world. 

My only hope is that a time will come 

When this foul murder will out. 

And the suspicion resting upo^n my 

name may be removed. 

May vour Christian fortitude sustain 

You in this trying hour. 

God bless you and farewell. 

Your wretched but devoted, William Sidden. 

Squire Blake — This is a fearful recital, Miss Helen, 
And should stagger your determination 
In the hazardious joiurney proposed. 

Helen — It is the cowardly only who 
Staggers when plain duty calls, and 
Makes excuses for a w-ill unnerved. 

Squire Blake — Do you believe William 
Sidden guilty of this crime? 



Helen — Do vcu believe that Gccl reigns 
And the Redeemer lives? 

Squire Blake — Certainlv I do. 

Helen — Do you believe there is 
Any honor or virtue in the world? 

Squire Blake — How vou talk, my child! 
Your blazing questions burn down in 
To my heart, and brace my better nature 
To declare ther does exist the sweetest 
\irtue and the fairest honor. 

Helen — Ah, well. And so do I 
Believe in this divinity 
And offer up devotion daily, 
For proof of God's infinity is found 
Complete in the complexitv of flesh 
And mind and soul commingled in a way 
That makes the dust we tread upon to breathe 
And walk and think. 
Thus baffling the cogitations of 
The skeptic, setting all philosophy 
At naught, and placing sober science in 
The nursery of thought, like children 
Swaddled and diverted bv 
The tinklmg of their rattles. 
And yet my faith in this unriddled 
Manifest is but as dross compared 
To that I have in "William Sidden's 
Innocence. 



53 

Squire Blal'e — Rut the burden of proof 
Seems agfainst him. 

Helen — So it seemed ag^ainst Christ in 
The trumped up charges that he had violated 
Roman law, and suffered pangs of death 
Between two malefactors. 
Did the world lose faith in Him for that? 
No, no ; it was the culmination of a love 
The like of which was never known before 
Or since, and come what may for good 
Or ill, my faith in God and he who is 
Betrothed to me shall never budge an inch 
In my devotion. 

Squire Blake (aside) — By my mother's grave 
I'd rather have such love as that 
In camp or hollow tree, than lace 'Of gold 
And fine prtmella in a castle rich 
And rare in every luxury. 
Then go, my girl ; I'll caw no mere at your 
Strong bent, for all there is of beauty in 
The world that's worth the name will follow vou. 
May heaven bless this high resolve and break 
Sweet daylight in each path you may be called 
To tread. 



54 

Act 2, Scene 5. Home of the Wintons. 

Enter Wintoji and his lUtle girl. 

Winton' — Where did papa's l:)aby get 
So much candy. 

Bahy — Miser Herring dave it to me. 

Winton — How often does he come here 
When papa's gone? 

Bahy — Oh, I dasn't no. Sometimes, and 
Brings me tandy. 

Winton — So, so ! 

Enter Augusta. 
Winton — Augusta, for what'purpose 
Is Mr. Berring allowed to visit you 
From day to day, and always in my absence? 

Augusta — Seldom does he come and then 
Not of my choosing. 

Winton — Why then comes he at all? 

Augusta — Because you have insisted that 
I give him no offense. Shall I forbid 
The house to him? 

Winton — If you can man-age it in way 
T'hat wards supicion ofif my wish. 

Augusta — What do vou mean by that? 



55 

Winton — Well, you know I am much 
Stuffed with obigations to the man 
For favors shown politically and otherwise. 
So to offend would be my funeral 
Heap of martyred inidiscretion. 

Augusta — Then you want him gone without 
Suspicion that you did demand his 
Going. 

Winton — That's it, exactly, dear Augusta. 
Not a downright dose of peppered words, 
But in that way a w^oman knows the best 
How to relieve herself of an unwelcome 
Visitor. 

Augusta — Very well ; vour word is 
Law to me in this affair. 

Exit. 



Act 2, Scene 6. A Street in Virginia City 

Enter Winton and Mrs. Alcesta. 

Mrs. Alcesta — Good evening, Mr. 
Winton. How's your wife to-day? 

Winton — She was well this morning 
When I left home. 

Mrs. Alcesta — Somebody else seems 
More attentive. to Augusta than yourself. 

Winto7i — To whom do you refer? 



56 

Mrs. Alcesta — Well, I don't wish 
To make trouble between man and wife, 
But you observe I live here where I 
Can't help seeing everybody going to 
Your house, and it seems my duty as 
A virtuous woman to reveal what I 
Have seen since you moved up on 
The hill. That is, if you would like 
To hear it? 

Winton — Go on with your story. 

Mrs. Alcesta — Of course vou know 
Mr. Herring is a constant visitor at the 
House in your absence? 

Winton— A constant visitor! What do 
You mean, woman? 

Mrs. Alcesta — Well, perhaps I ought 
Not to say that, but he is there quite 
Often. 

Winton — How long does he stay? 

Mrs. Alcesta — Well, I should say from 
Half to an hour and a half, and the 
Curtains are usually drawn down 
When he comes. 

Oh, it is really awful to think of 
A married woman letting another 
Man in the house while her husband 
Is absent. 



57 

I should not dare do such a thino^ 

Unless it happened to be some particular 

Friend or intimate acquaintance, 

For you know temptation is continually set 

In the way to take advantage of our little weaknesses. 

Your wife, I may say, is proud and haodsome, 

Will not notice me upon the street and 

Seems indififerent to those who may behold 

Her callers, as if in blind contempt of 

Other people's tOiUgiies. 

And as a friend, with much 

Experience in the world, I would 

Advise you come up from 

Business unexpected ; look out a bit 

For lady love, stray letters, doubtful 

In propriety J or some fine day 

Your duckv may be missing. 

Act 2, Scene 7. Winton's Parlor. 
Enter Wintoti and Augusta. 

Winton — Well, my lady, I have 
You at last in the hollow of my 
Hand. 

Here*s a letter from your lover 
Which I fortunately intercepted at the 
Post this afternoon. 
It tells the story of your faithlessness 



58 

To me and attachment for a villain 
Weairing the garb of a friend. 

Augusta — I do not understand you. 
Mr. Winton, please explain yourself ! 

Winton — You don't hev ! Then read 
This letter and tell me what it means. 

Augusta (reading) — 

San FranciscO', Oct. lo, 1861, 

My Dear Mrs. Winton: 
I herewith send 

The baby some trinkets and yourelf 
A diamond ring, which I trust 
You will accept and wear as a 
Smiall token of my esteem. 
1 shall remain in the city some 
Weeks and hope to meet you during 
Your stay in Alameda. 

Devotedly yours, 

Fritz B 

Wiiiton — That's a duck without feathers, 
Ain't it? Devotedly yours. Surely 
He is . A lark with a wanton's wing 
Roosting on my threshold. 
Hell and blazes ! Where's thy virtue, 
Woman? This thing smells to heaven 
And all pandemonium is leering at 
A cuckold fool. 
I shall preserve this darling evidence 



59 

In action for a quick divorce which I 
Propose to institute immediately. 

Augusta — I can assure you, Mr. Winton, 
That I have never given Mr. Berring 
Encoiiragement to write such. 
If he has been so foolish indiscreetly 
To pen such flattering- compliments to a 
Married womian, certainly I should not 
Be held responsible in this affair. 

Winto7i — Oh, no; certainly not. 
But how about expecting to^ meet 
Yo'U soon in Alameda? 

Augusta — Mr. Berring learned of my 
Proposed visit to Alameda, here in 
Your presence one evening, when the 
Fact WcS inadvertently mentioned — 
There is niothing more in this affair 
I can assure you. 

Winton — Woman', take me not ior some 
Ungainly ass, that brays aloud and wags 
His skinny tail ; then dopes his greedy maw 
With mouldy fodder. 
I know a kit 

Of stinking fish by smelling it. 
And for a man, that's sane, to breakfast on 
A dowdy shad and call it clean. 
Forgets the honor of bis mother. 



DO 

Sleeping like a lewd in dirty sheets 

Not of his soiling 

I am content to let the devil take 

His own and fry the fat of hypocrites 

Who fawn and whime of virtue wronged, 

Then set up shop where virtue never goes. 

So, heniceforth, as streams converging at 

Their soiurce, diverging as they onward move 

To' rivers never joined ; 

Let us drink of Lethean waters 

That remembrance may Ijlot the page 

Of its unhappy record. 

Augusta— Ah ! Well ! 
If thou durst will it thus, 't's surely done; 
But then this hemlock trippled bittered by 
The pique and garget of your angry words 
Is draught of hell's own cheerless choosing, 
Staggering the valid witness of 
Your antecedents 

In honest, upright souls, this sleeping child 
Should lend degree of sympathy between 
The figure and gargol oi your angry words 
The pair that give it life, and soften down 
Asperities, that grow like arbor gourds 
In jealous minds. 

There are stabs o^f dangerous import 
That time may heal, but when a heart is pierce. 
The life it did sustain must fail 



6i 

And witlier like a tiower frosted for 

The grave. 

I was a child in years when vou did plead 

My hand, with mind unskilled in many thing's, 

And doiibtfnl where my highest duty lay. 

But finally when faith and love stood pledged 

To you, the sun wheni flaming all the Orient 

No' surer turns the moirning glory in 

Its greeting, than your coming did my face 

To thee. 

Your will has stood before me like a light 

That one does foillow trustingly. 

At times, perhaps, 

When kinidmess was a little strained with you, 

1 may have seemed with saddened face as does 

A star behind a fleeting cloiud ; 

But then the star had never budged an inch 

In its ascension. 

Shall all this faith and constancy fall by 

The way like chilled and withered leaves? 

Winton — Too late this pleading comes. 
This home is like a house built on the sand 
Without foundation woirthy oi the name ; 
Go where yon will, the silver cord is loosened 
And the golden bowl is broken. 

Exit Winton. 

Augusta — Can it be that this is not a dream? 
Does destiny work woe like this? 



t)2 _ 

If Jealousy can wear his garb of green, 

And blast a home where dwelleth purity, 

Where can tlie true heart find degree oif rest? 

An outcast am I, grimy on the brink 

Of desolation for an awful crime 

Tliat never was committed. 

Mv child ! vShe sleeps ! 

God bless her little soiil, and when I'm gome 

May heaven grant that innocence shall feel 

No pang for actiou not its own. 

Farewell, dear one, my ruined life seeks peace 

Where all the sorrows of the world do 

Find a resting place. 

Exit. 

Act 2, Scene 8. A Street in Virginia City. 
Enter Happy Jack (singing). 
Happy Jacl' — 

O, Nancy Jinks, I'm mighty glad 

You are so sweet a critter ; 
vShe's got a beau for every toe, 
And not a soul can get her. 
Green grow the rushes, O ! 

Enter Winton (running up against H. J.). 
Winton — What the devil are you doing here? 
Happy Jack — And whiat the devil are you 



63 

Doing here — running" over a fellow like 
A bison bull left behind his herd? 

V/i7iton — Looking for a woman lost ! 

Happy Jaclc — Who lost her? 

Winto7i — I did, by mishap of my tongue and temper. 

Happy Jaclx — Then may you find her not, 
If she is strayed on that account. 
For any woman scOirmed by rankling wards 
And low down epithets, will kick the shins 
Of him who undertakes to rub the oil 
Of harmony into her marrow bones. 
Again,, and blight will set like toiadstooils damp 
And co'ld, where once the rosies grew. 

\yinto7i — Oh, hang yoiur moral gush 
To dry in Haides! Have you seen the one 
I seek? 
Square-footed give me what you know, or go. 

Happy Jacl' — Well, briefly stated, I 
Did see a form, like some lost soul in white, 
With something kin to raven's wing for hood. 
It flitted up toward the crown of sun peak, 
When with airy feet the summit pressied, 
It seemed to give an invoication thus : 
Then passed beyond, just as the moirning light 
Streamed from the sun as came its burning car 
From margin of the underworld. 

Winton — Where were vou at the time? 



64 

Happy Jack — Just rounding Devil's neck, 
With stage and six in hand. 

Winton — Saw ycii else of this afifair? 

Happy J ad' — A moment later I observed 

A grooking, crawling thing, in shape of man 

High om the mountain side, unsteady in 

Its gait, creeping this way, then in that, 

Then straight ahead, as if in search 

Of something lost. 

Mayhap pursuing stealthily the form 

In robes before outlined. 

Exit (singing). 
Green grow the rushes, O ! 
The sweetest hour I ever spent 
Was with the fair yourug lassies, O ! 

Winton — That fellow has surely seen 
The bird I'm after, but that other form 
What the Devil was it? 
I'll get assistaiiice for a search. 
Hello, Colonel Wasson. (Banginig on a door.) 

\Yasson (above) — Who's down there banging at the 
door? 

Winton — Dress, and come down. Colonel. 
I am in trouble. 

Wasson (opening the door) — Winton, you here. 
In the half-opened eye of the morning. 



6s 

Looking like a ghost, with Charon, boiating 
On the river Styx, with freight of souls 
For Cerberus. 

Winton — My wife has run away. 

Wasson — Which way did she run? 

Winton — An apparitioii like a spirit lost 
Has just been seen upon the summit of 
Mount Davidson, and, clambering up 
Its side a crouching form as if of 
Bloodhound breed, seeming-ly pursuing it. 

Wasso7i — Why did she trek it thus 
Between two days? 

Wititon — Oh, well, yoti see, I went 
Home cross. The green-eyed monster 
Prompting me, I gave in words not gentle 
Vent to foul suspicion of a liaison 
With Primirose Berring, when she took 
Ofifence, and talked me back as any 
Womian will at seeming slight. 
At this my temper rufHed up like 
The setting quills of some old poircupine. 

And in my rage did bid her go to 

Where the woodbine twineth. 

At this she swooined away, when 

I did take my leave uniceremoin(ioush% 

And walked the town for full three hours. 

Then, like a cur returninig to its kennel, 

After kilhng sheep, I sneaked the streets 



66 

Most cautiously, and, reaching home, 

Just as the morning cock set up 

A clamor that the old oblivion of 

The night had fled. 

And fled also had fair Augusta. 

Wasson — Ye gods, 
What asses mortals are to stick 
Their noses in a pinch and whine because 
It hurts. 

How infinitely wise and good was God 
To give the devil fire in which to fry 
The fat of fools ! 

Like Ta;nitalus, they strive in vain for that 
Beyond their reach, and in the strife lose what 
They have; then wail because they have it not. 
If all the evil hap'nings in the world, 
That never happened anywhere, save in 
The gloomy garrets of disordered minds, 
Could pass unheeded by. 
Full half the ills of life would disappear, 
As mist before the rising sun. 
Oh heaveni help to make us over in 
A world less obdurate and splinted up 
With charity that can detect a glint 
Of beauty where there's much of it. 
Enter Mark Twain. 

Marie T. — Well, I am surprised to see 
Two worthies pillowed on a public street 



67 

At an hour so untimely. 

What's in the wind toi warrant this array? 

Wasson — Winton's lost his wife, 
And wants to g^arnishee the stars to aid 
In her recovery. 

Mark T. — I know her not ! Presume you that 
The trekinof ^anie is worth the burnino^ of 
This early candle. 

Wasson — The fairest Piute squaw 
On all these barren hills seems but 
As baboon, buckskin-breeched, to amg-elized 
Augusta,, whom we seek. 

Mark T. — If angelized, why wish her back 
Tb this abode oif diirt and devil broth? 
I never knew but one such creature in 
This place, where Clytemnestra seems to rule 
Supreme. 

Wasson — What angel mean you, Mark? 

Mark T. — The printer Myran, who, 
With Dan de Quille for pen and inkhorn can 
With ease, a coal pit galvanize, or swing 
A toad and make a seraph of it. 
Which way has Winton's dulcy flown? 

Wasso7i — It seems she's taken to 
The moimtains, like a faw^n pursued. 
Com^e on. We'll scale the breast of this 
Old mother of the peeping hills. 
Exit all. 



68 



Act 2, Scene 8. A Grotto at Base of Mountains. 
Enter Loreno (carrying a white form). 

Loreno — ^Ah, senora ; you is me one at 
Las. A hard olci tug, yet here 
We is. Just under blufY where yo 
Was kill yo self. Come in me 
Casa. where me lif. 

(Puts her in, gets in and rolls stone in doorway.) 

Enter Wasson, Mark Tivain and Winton. 

Wasson — Well, here we are at base 
Of Davidson, whereo^n we've rambled hours 
Searching for a treasure lost. 
Here seems the last of that old moccasin 
Traced to apex, then meandering down 
Again from brink of this high precipice, 
Where last we saw the slipper's imprint. 
The villain must be hereabouts with prize 
Secreted. Come and let us search for them. 
Here seems a cavern at the base of this 
Old bluff, walled in with streaks of shining quartz 
And gray-gowned adamant. (Rolling away stone.) 
Hello, you denizens of darkness ! 
Who's in there? 

(A voice within.) An hombre miras 
Lo que pacies. Go way or I kill you. 

Wasson — Well Winton, I think we 



69 

Have located your wife, yet there 
Seems tOi be a brief obstruction to 
Her rescue. Will you go down in the den 
And make examination oif the premises? 

Winton — ^What. and g^et loaded up 
With lead for my surprisinig pains? 
Let the devil take her for a mesismate 
Rather than make a mess of flesh and 
Bitter sauce for me to breakfast on. 

Vvasson — So' Mark, it seems the game is up 
Unless you volunteer recovery of the prize. 
This adventure will immortalize 
You niioire than all the pens and inkhoirns used 
In twenty years. 

Mark Twain — I beg of you, dear Colonel, not 
To rob yourself cf such an honor, 
My ambition runs in other lines. 
W'ith quill in hand and Dan Dequill for help 
We can with ease set up the whole of this 
Great territory, stretching every ear 
To greatest length of braying asses 
Utmost, when they hear of this wonder 
Double headlined in the Enterprise, 
Thus soaring- like the new-born sun, 
Or sailing on the wings of night 
To reach an eminence ol black or white 

That will adorn a simple tale. 

But when it comes to guns and saber cuts 



70 

My bones shake in my boots and all my hair 

Does bristle like the troubled porcupine. 

Noi, no, dear Wasson, 1 could never think 

Of robbing you of honor in a field 

Of action common to your trade. 

And if you dare the villain in that den 

And bring the woman out alive, 

The Enierprise shall flare and flame as does 

A signal fire on a mighty hill. 

And in the foreground shall appear your name, 

Niched high upon the glowing arch of fame. 

^Yasson — Oh, good Lord, what stuff! 
Shut off your screaming calliope 
And give us all a rest. 
Is that you down there, Loreno? 

Loreno — You go, dis my casa ! 
Come no here — 'hombre die. 

Wasson — We want the wo'man, bring her out. 

Loreno — You can no haf her, she go jump 
Kill herself, I catch an of her so 
She mine. 

Wasson — Her husband's here with me 
And we'll blow off your head unless 
You give her up. 

Loreno — No, no ; he no kill a rat. 
He too mucha one bi^ coward. 

Wasson— \N\\\ vou let us talk with T^Irs. Winton? 



71 

Lor en — No, no. You no &ee her, she no talk. 
You vamoose or I shoot you ! 

Wasson (falling^ and rolling down into the cavern ; 
several shots are fired; Loreno severely woiunded, when 
Mrs. Winton is brought out of the grotto) — 
Here, now, I have the lady safe, so let 
Us travel to the town. 

Winton (addressing his wife) — It seems 
You've had a fearful tramp and bad 
Experience with a cunning scamp. 
Will you go home with me, Augusta? 

Augusta — No, I never can. It is no 
Longer home for me. There never can 
Be rest beneath its roof. The wildest wood 
Is as a paradise to such, a place. 
For surely is the name of home 
A jarring mockery where cold reproach 
Burns like a bitter frost the tender plant 
Of sympathy. 

The desert loses all its horrors to 
The wandering Arab, hoiused in canvas walls 
With those he loves, as share and share alike 
They take of good and ill. 
While in fair castles on embowered isles 
Of genial warmth, with wind's in which the late- 
ShoTn lambs delight tO' skip contentedly. 
Are often barren of the bliss of peace 
Where lovine hearts strike home in unison. 



The make-up of this checkered Hfe is so 
Uncertain, that the tear-stained dirge 
Of happiness often crowds on fleeting heels 
Of hymen's merry march. 
Sad-hearted memories of the past 
Haye grown a wilderness between us 
Sunless as the halls of Kserhadden. 
Destiny hath drawn his iron fingers 
Through my heart so deep and Cruelly, 
That lacerated as it is I seek 
No consolation but to be alone 
With my own misery. 

Give me clothes, my child and means to reach 
My father's home, and you shall never 
Wrinkle up your brow^ at me again ! 

Winto?2 — 'Tis well, perhaps, that yO'U have so decreed, 
Whatever else, in this we are agreed, 
And so make readv for the final start, 
Tliere's ill between us and no faith in heart. 
Exit all hut Winton. 

Winton — So, so. She's gone and I am left alone. 
Distempered through with vain conceits, I yet 
Have sense enough to know my folly in 
This tumble turn of pride and ruined hopes. 
The chances seem that she is wrong accused ■ 
And I to blame for that accusing. 
Coupled with the ills resulting, 
The gaw and selfishness of many lives 



73 

Show not their color skimmin.Q summer seas. 

But in the warp of murky weather flare 

Their wanton flasks. 

Much is the pity, but the truth should out 

Thoug-h galling like a truss in sultry heat ! 

What fantasies we weave of airy nothings 

And augur ills that never come to^ pass. 

The sotmdest thoug-ht in all philosophy 

Is to hold the scales in even balance — 

"Duty with the soul of charity," 

The gabble oi the world that nimbly takes 

Its seasoning from so many enmities. 

Does break more rotten ground in hell than all 

The other woes not in the train of this 

Great monster. 

A tender plant will wither at the touch 

Of frost, as dees the g-entle germ of love 

In keeping of a taunting fool. 

The greatest sorrow of each soul, perhaps, 

Is nurtured in the hollow wish to' live 

Its troiubled life again, that mistakes made 

And wrongs imposed might be effaced 

From act and memory, in better moods 

Made possible by sad experience. 

The consciousness of action ill-advised 

And sefishness that sorrow other lives 

Do weight the load that every mortal bears. 

Perhaps there is a respite, so decreed 



74 

Jn this, that death is one eternal void, 
In which the blamk of memoTy allows 
Forgetfulness to sleep in peace. 
I hope it may be so, 
For conscience is a heavy load to lug 
While conscious wrong- is CA^er manifest. 
If there be hell bevomd the confines of 
This life^ for torment of the lost and damned, 
The goad oi burning brimstone cannot add 
To agony of deep remorse which gnaws 
The soul that's pinioned down forever with 
The skeleton of its own dishonor. 

Exit. 

Act 2, Scene 9. A Street in Virginia City. 

Enter Happy Jack (singing.) 

The earth spreads out her ample lap 

To nurture fairest roses, 
While nature sets without a gap 

The hills and dales with posies. 

The trees are warming in the sun 
Their leaflets and their fingers, 

And May day has the garb of one 
Who blushes while she lingers. 

God has planted beauty here 
Wherever erows the bower, 



75 

And each should love the living year, 
With all its sun and shower. 

Hie ding ding, the cat and the king. 
The cow jumped over the moon, sir ; 

The little doggy burnt his tail, 

And you'll get whipped to-morrow. 

Life is sunlight to the soul 
That seeks another's pleasure. 

And with the good there is no dole 
In spreading heaven's treasure. 

If all could see the living light 

That flames in God's great arches, 

Soon would disappear the night 
And sweet would be their marches. 

We strive for things we cannot use. 

To state a miser's wooing ; 
And nobleness of heart abuse — 

The best of life undoing. 

Unmindful man of passing years. 

Unheedful of the ages ; 
The record angel blots with tears 

As turns old Time the pages. 

So cycles pass with man in state, 
To one great common dooming ; 

While nations dwell, that once were great, 
In one great common tombmg. 



70 

And all because the gleaner grows 
Not what in truth he's reaping, 

As pitiless the toiler sows 

In want, with children weeping. (Chorus.) 

Enter Berring. 

Berring — Hoild up your warble, Jack, 
I have a job for you. 

Happy JacJv — V»'ell, pay me in advance 
An' I'll be aisy with the crather. 

Berring— ]>io, not a red cent until 
The service is completed. 

Happy Jack — What is the service worth to me? 

Berring — If well perfcrmed, more than a year's 
staging. 

Happy Jark- — Pray unwind the thread of this 
Adventure. 

Berring — Well, you know that Wintcn's wife 
Hath peppered with the fool and skipped 
The town with dudgeon in her blazing eye 
And pent-up sorrow in her heart. 

Happy Jack — Well? 

Berring — Well, in confidence I will 
Admit I am in love with her and wish 
To follow, as hunter does a nimble deer. 

Happy Jock — Yes, yes : and so I thought. 
But such occurrences are common, sir — 



77 

Most common in this town, where scarce 

A shift can cross a public street, 

Or flutter in the wind, that does not 

Have at least a scoire oif 

Oglers Gin her track, with breath of 

Onions, panting for the chase. 

Berrmy — Fie on you, man ; 
Why moralize, when rich reward 
Stands tiptoe for a service small indeed? 

Happy Jack — Because my mother was a woman, 
Doubled with a sister pure as snow, 
With love so blind and dominating in 
Her nature that she fell an easy prey 
To blandishments of one less carmel 
Your single self. 

Berring — Waylay your jaws ! 
This surprising impudence doth clog 
The avenue of common decency 
And ribald heaven with a jibing tongue. 

Happy Jack — Console yourself, a better day will come. 

Berring — When ? 

Happy Jack — When enoiugh of ghouls most ravenous 
Inlaid with prying libertines, 
Shall pass the gates of purgatory, 
To' miake a holiday in hell. 

Berring — Be satisfied, thou saucy scofifer. 
This proposad for espionage hath not 



78 

The color of a lax or dark intent. 

But since the woman leaves the burly burg-, 

Without escort or friendly hand to help 

In need, what sin is there in shielding- her 

From harm^ and even keep a watch to meet 

Emergencies? ) 

Happy Jack — Oh, well ; proceed. 
I see it is the same old story of 
A Jack black in a lover's garb that does 
Protest a friendv^hip that is friendless when 
Unclou'ded lust can dictate terms. 

B erring — Bandy no more words. I simply wish 
To know if you will take the job? 

HappyJack — How much in nug-gets is it worth to me? 

Berring — A hundred ounces of the brightest gold 
The Comstock lode affords. 

Happy Jack — Well, manv saints 
Have fallen baud for less amount. 
And since I am no saint or moralist 
Beyond the measure of a common need, 
That hinges on respectability, 
I grant your case and take the burthen up, 
Conditioned that 1 shall mot carry this 
Espionage to degree that blurs the sense 
Of common decency. 

Berring — 'Tis well. I mean no barm. 
Would not a hair of hers unloosen from 



79 

Its braid, nor turn a trump that is not in 
The shuffled deck. 

Ilai^ny Jack — ^Then give your charge and I 
Shall bend submissive to its mandate. 

Berring — 'Tis this — 
With circumspection travel to the coast, 
And when you reach the Occidental 
City whalf with shanties built about 
The tide and scrambling up the grade and out 
Among the hills, that fix their foothold in 
The mother sea, turn, and looking eastward, 
Where you will behold a winding 
Silver hoirn that creeps along between 
The sylvan woods, as yet but little known 
To canoe or her sister argosies, 
Within a slip upon the city's front 
A paddle steamer, called the Clinton, sits 
And breathes upon the changing tide. 
Board this vessel, she will shoirtly cross 
The sapphire stretch oif placid bay 
And enter in the shining hoirn. 
When its meande rings m,argin on a league 
There will appear to right a narrow wharf 
That sways oii shaky underpinning. 
Landing here, tramp down the heaved up 
Highway half a mile, with ample rush 
And salt grass green on either hand. 
Then bearing eastvv^ard through the margin of 



8o 



The oak for several rods, you wiil observe 

A gothic, gabled home, vine-clad and banked 

About with battle roses. 

This is Augusta's childhood home, 

Where she will surely be before you reach 

The place. Seek service there. 

The master dignified you'll find, with stretch 

Of strut that lifts and lowers all his form 

At every step. 

He hath perceptions like a sharp-billed hawk 

That broods above a chicken yard. 

Be wary of him, keep your wits in play. 

And lose no trick that sleight of hand can hold. 

Stint no job of work assigned 

And make yo^ur service indispensable. 

Cuddle with the cook, anticipate 

Her every wish and praise the sops she gives 

You for a dinner. 

Compliments are cheap, but dallied in 

A woman's ear vvill yield more juicy fruit 

Than softer words or more pretentious speech. 

Make your ear a grand receiver 

For wireless telegraphy, 

But never anxious seem in anv way 

To learn the inmost of her little soul. 

Be, in fact, her confident, for she 

Is jewel of the household when you wish 

To dig about to find its harbored secrets. 



8i 

Thus ensconced, you can with ease 

Find out each move Augusta makes 

And send, clandestinely, the gist of all 

Your finding out. 

Exit B erring. 

Happy Jack — What fools we mortals are 

To pester out our lives about the wives 

Of other men and coax a gunshot in 

The ribs before we get a nip or sprig 

Of smilax from her lips. 

But then it's all the same to mie. I was 

Not born to rule the milky way. 

And so I'll do as bid and get my pay, 

And leave Fritz FJerring in a shay 

That line the road to deviltry. 

Eant (singing.) 

Sally Dooley ran away 

To catch an ancient lover , 

Her breath was like the new-miown bay 

Or blossoms on the clover. 



Act 3, Scene i. Room in the Hotel, Carson City. 

Enter Helen Jessup. 

Helen — And this hotel is near the prison 
In which my lover lingers in coinfinement 
For a crime not his ! 
No ! He is so gently tender in 



82 

His nature that a bug could face him in 

A towpath with security, and singing, 

Praise its maker for a footfall that 

Has never harmed a living thing. 

A woman may be weak, indeed, but then 

It is her purity in tears that makes 

A fortress, where all manly hiomor stands 

Like adamant in her defense. 

It seems Divinity hat willed it, that 

On all occasions where affliction claims 

Support, the burly captain in his straps. 

And strutting lord of high degree, wrapped 

In rattling armor, pale with quaking fear 

Where woman dares tO' go for thosie sihe loves. 

I have no hope but in my troth to him. 

So here I am to stay, come good or ill. 

And if I fail the rescue, here my bones 

Shall bleach, and if my spirit is allowed 

The latitude, its wail shall start the hair 

To bristles on the head of every one 

That did abet this foul injustice. 

Enter Clerh. 
Clerk — Miss Jessup, this is Mrs. 
Winton from Virginia City, seeking 
Lodgings for the night, and not 
A bed to spare save extra one this 
Room afifords, so beg consent that she 
And child may lodge with you. 



83 

Helen Jessup — Most williiig-ly, with due 
Appreciation for this compHment. 
Exit Clerk. 

Unhoiod, good lady, doff ycur heavy cloak, 

You must be weary with the journey. 

And now, my little dear, let me undo 

Your wraps. How sweet and beautiful yoiu are, 

A mother's treasure amid a father's joy. 

Memory indulges me that I , 

Have heard your name before. 

Can this be Augusta Winton oif 

Virginia City? 

Augusta — The same, and this, I think, 
Must be Miss Jesisup, sister of brave 
Jerry and betrothed of William SIdden? 

Helen — It is, but how your words 
Do take my breath. A stranger and a friend 
Revealed most opportune. 
Will Sid den wrote me how 
A gfreaiser named Lorenoi sought to kiss 
You at a ball while dancing with my brother, 
Who in hiis wrath did fioor the saucy 
Fellow for his impudence. 

Augusta — Y'es, 'tis even so, and ever since 
I've taken interest in yoiur brother's case. 
And like some horror a suspicion haunts 
Me that the blow he struck Loire no for 



84 

Insult he offered had no Utile part 
In that untimely taking off. 

Helen — Then have you doubt who killed my brother? 
Was it William Sidden? 

Augusta — Believe that Sidden killed brave Jerry? 
Wherefore should I? Surely there is much 
Of evil in the world, but where ct when 
Was mortel in his senses ever known 
To' kill his friend without a cause? 
'Tis true, it hath been done in drunken brawl^ 
But Sidden never touched the scoirpion 
That stings to deaith its boosy confidant 
And ruims half the race and waters half 
The woirid with tears. 

Helen — Sweet heaven, bend this way 
Thy glo>wing stars as stepping-stones to reach 
Nirvana's chambers of the blest, where now 
My mother's spirit beckons mie. 
Forever will I love and bless yoiir life, 
Augusta, for these noble words that melt 
A night of sorrow intO' sunbeams. 
I knew it all before, as does a trusting 
Mariner, cast oft by heavy seas ; 
In boat with broiken ribs and tattered sail — 
There is to leawiard peaceful anchorage 
If but the straining ship can hold her sides 
Together throug'h the blinding storm. 



85 

Augusta — T can conceive the joy yC'U teel 
To hear of this assuritv, but why 
So fair from home and friends? 

Helen — The proniptrmgs of my heart 
For WilHam Sidden's Hfe and hberty. , 
Did call me to this place and here I am 
To stay, and die if need be in the fight 

Augusta — Have yoii seen him since 
Arrivmg here? 

Helen — Yes, to-dav 
1 managed entrance in the prison, 
Saw him wo-rking in his stripes and had 
A talk of home, of loved ones there 
And of my faith, as steady as a star, 
Without its aberration. 
At this the dreary sadness O'f his face 
Went out as does a mist that thwarts the sun. 
Perhaps you've seen the like, I never did 
Before, save when my father died. 
The fell destroyer gnawing all 
His vitals out, ran through his fevered blood 
Like fiery serpents in a race with life. 
But when. 

On reaching portal of another woirld, 
He said, in words scarce audible, ''My child, 
Who sings? I hear a strain unearthly in 
Its sweetness and I feel constrained to go. 
Come bear me company." Then pressing 



86 

Tenderly my hand, the wrinkled 

Sorrows left his face, and even I, 

Though mortal as I am,, did get a glimpse 

Of paradise. 

At this fuil-taith avowal Sidden took 

Me in his arms, with aspen tremble, 

Implanting kisses on my cheek like one 

With burthened heart who finds a jewel 

Counted lo;st. 

The burly guard, not liking this display, 

Did snatch at me and sought a like embrace. 

God seems to have ordained it thus 

Thait manly men can not be cowed by fear. 

So in a flash Will's face grew rigid as 

An iron shield and then his Spartan fist 

Went smash into that brutal chop. 

The slump, prone on his back, did yell 

For help, when others came to his relief, 

And in unmanly ways dragged Will to door 

Of a new dungeon, half finished at the top, 

Where in the damp, cold place my love was thrust, 

Chained as a beast to flagstone ^n the floor 

To live on bread and water for a week. 

Augusta — And w^U you try to see his face again? 

Helen — Try? I'm here to stay ! 
And all the chains 2nd rcpes the town affords 
Cannot enthrall me strong enough to lag 
My will tO' try ; 



87 

But, dear Augusta, pardon this harangue 
It's run at loose ends loog enough to make 
Yoiu think me something ol a dawdle — 
Tell me of yourself and future hope 

Augusta — My past seems black with disappointment 
And all my future like a star gone down. 

Helen — Your husband and your home, 
Is there no comfort in the thoug'ht? 

Augusta — I have no husband, neither home, 
And all the comfort left me is this child 
And nursing my own misery. 

Helen — How so? 

Augusta — The green and yellow jaundice of 
A jealous mind hath bound a potion to 
My bleeding heart, that sadly weakens its 
Impulses as I drag my load along 
And as a weary pilgrim, seemingly, 
I climb the frozen path to summit of 
The Everest to look beyond 
On desolation. 

And yet, I seek, as respite oiu the way, 
The portals of my father's home to balm 
The woimds I have received from one who pledged 
His faith to me forever moire. 

Helen — Hope always, dear Augusta ; 
Each sun makes to the world another day 
And as the night takes dismal refuge at 



88 

His coming down the dingy aisle of Time 
Wrap up the scroll of sorroAv past and let 
Sweet Lethe take all its memories. 
Exit Helen. 

Augusta — A ray of light so pure and sweet 
That makes the deepest darkness visible ; 
The ruin of my life seems less a ruin in 
Her company, as when the tallest pines 
Are tipped with golden beams, relieves, in part. 
The blackness of the shadowed vale below ; 
O, destiny ! suage down this irony 
Of fate and glint my hopes of life again. 

Exit. 

Act 3, Scene 2. Same. 
Enter Helen. 

Helen— Well 
That splendid w^oman has departed for 
The peace of childhood's home, 
And may she find a solace there 
Sweet as the lyrics of old Lesbos, 
But now I'll tO' my task of rescue 
Circumspect and cautiously, 
And so, discretion, backed by flinty nerves, 
Must ever keep me dogged company ; 
I did observ^e his cell had but loose boards 
Across its level top for cover — 



89 

Near the prison lay a ladder 
Light and long, 

This I can secure and while the g^uard 
Tramps round the measured beat, will lean against 
His cell, this handy rounder, 
Taking all the chances oif discovery, 
I'll make a rush tC' reach its shaky roof. 
Here's my chisel and a hammer for 
The cutting oi the cuf¥s that manicle 
His arm and foto.t to length of clanking chain. 
This little jaunt may haza;rd much, 
But, then, success without a hazard, 
Surely shomld be salted down to keep 
The skippers out of it. 
The jeer and grin may bandy my attempt 
And modesty fiare out her jeweled hand. 
But where devotion calls for action in 
Defense of those we love unbidden will 
Sets pride and sickly sentiment aside, 
As when, a storm breaks up the placid face 
And hum-drum murmur oi the sea. 

l^xit. 

Act 3, Scene 3. Before the Prison. 

Enter Helen. 

Helen — Here's the ladder, opportune 
Now for the scale 



90 

(Puts ladder against the prisoni wall ; scales ; guard ap- 
proaches ; moves boards^ raises, lowers ladder inside, 
and descends.) 

Sidden (talking in his sleep) — 
So, inhuman jailer, you declare 
The game is up with me, and that I shall 
Not see her face again ! 
My love, my life ! Is there no refuge from 
This thrall dom worse than death? 
Could I but see that face again and soothe 
The agony of her ruined life, 
Perhaps she would be comforted. 

i^e/en— Dearest Will, 
Your w^sh is gratified herein truth. 
1 kneel before you. May we never part 
Again. 

Seddon — What is this? 
Hallucinatiom ! Am I going mad? 

Helen — Not a bit of it, my dear. 
I'm here as real as the stones you rest 
Upon, and come to set 3'OU free. 
Plere's my chisel, hammer and a file. 
Hold out your hand ,and I will cut the chain. 
And set your limbs at liberty. 

Seddon — By what spell, our urging potency, 
Induced your coming here? 

Helen — No spell but that of love ; 



91 

No potency but love and will to dare. 
But, then, there is no time for sentiment. 
Hold down the chain upon this irom bolt, 
And with this chisel and my hiammer I 
Will sever it. 

(Strikes with the hammer, making much noise.) 

Seddon — Hold, my dear! 
This noise will start the guards, and poimce 
They wiH upon you like a terrier 
A kitten moist defenseless. 
If loosed, I coiuld not go^ with you, because 
A charge of breakinig jail would lodge against 
Us both. Besides, we could not possibly 
Escape the country undetected. 
Innocence cannot afford to break 
A manacle. It is the guilty that 
Attempts escape. 

Helen — Ah, truly so! 
I see my folly in this rash attempt. 
And trust you will forgive it. 

Seddon — Forgive is not the word. 
But praise the longest day 1 live for nerve 
That faced the undertaking. 
Now get thee hence, my noble o^ne, and if 
You reach the outer world in safety, 
Devoted memory will place you on 
A pedestal enthroned forever as 



92 

A lover's talisman. 
The clock strikes three, and now 
The eyelids of the morning lift apace ; 
So let the balance of the waning night 
Full hood your face and eyes, which ever light 
The darkness of my present life. 
Exit Helen. 



Act 3, Scene 4. A Room in the Hotel. 

Filter Helen. 

Helen — In tliat bciit 1 set my picket line 
So near the camping enemy 
That cautiom urged retreat. 
But still my midnight ra'd upoai this den 
Was not a dismial failure, after all. 
I saw my cope, and he admired my 
Resolve and pertinacity. 
That is enough of glcry fcr a month. 
And on it will I make an epic. 
Fo-r an everlasting memory. 
Where stand I now, and what the drift 
Of other work in that direction? 
Here's the Carsoin Appeal. Perhaps it has 
A place for me. 
Yes, good fortune brings it in 
The nick of time. (Reads :) 
Wanted — A first-class co'ok, competent 



93 

To take charge of the kitchen at the 

Warm Springs prison. 

Apply to Abrani Curry, on the grounds. 

This will bring me near the one I love, 

As does the intinct af a cooing dove 

To mate that's caged moist cruelly. 

It gives, beside, an opportunity 

To show my hiandiwork. 

My mother — bless her loving soiul ! — 

Did drill me in the art of keeping ho'Use 

For many years. 

Dishes did we conjure up that had 

No mame in decalogue of epicures, 

And whet anew the keenest appetite. 

Yes, I'll try the place! 

In fact, I must do somiethimg, for my purse 

Is but the shadow of a substance go'nie, 

And scarce will pay my bill to date. 

But then mishap hath given me acquaintance there, 

Perhaps in measure quite embarrassing. 

Contempt of angled eyes wo'uld looik so high 

With stretch of neck that doors woiuld lose their caps 

In passing that array of squinting wooder. 

So dress I will, and paint and fix to make 

A Bridget of myself. 

But this great mass of golden hair is in 

The way of biddy making. 

O ! thou great glory of my childhood. 



94 

And pride of larger womanhood ! 

I must then shear my ample treasure. 

Necessity is law unto herself, 

And sentimental qualms burn down to- dross, 

When destiny forefronts with rigid play. 

The fates decree it, so here goes (cuts off her hair). 

How stale and lank the little tokens of 

A woman's love appear, when duty calls 

Foa* action throug-h a bugle in her soul ! 

There ! I think that make-believe will do. 

My mother would disown, me in this garb ; 

And rouge legitimate would blush to see 

The dopes upon my face. 

Exit. 

Act 3, Scene 5. Prison Office. 
Enter Helen. 

Helen — Is Misthur Curry in? 

Curry — That's my name. 
What can I do for you? 

Helen — Will, if you plaze, I come to say about the place 
advertised in the papers. 

Curry — Do you mean the notice for a cook? 

Helen — Sure, and that's for what I come. 

Curry — Do you seek the place for yourself? 

Helen — If it is agrayable, sur. 

Curry — Do you think you can fill it? 

Helen — I do indiade, sur. 



95 

Curry — Were you ever in a state prison? 

Helen — An' do you take me for a thiafe, Misther Curry? 

Curry — I do not mean thait, but hiave you had any 
experienee in prison life? 

Helen — Faith, an' how cud I have any expariamce in 
prison Hfe unhss I be a thiafe, a house-breaker or a big- 
amist? 

Curry — ^That's easy. I've been ini prisotii many moinths, 
yet never committed a crime. 

Helen — An angel, then, surely you are, Misther Curry, 
for the good book says there was niver a mother's son 
without sini. 

Curry — Oh, well, I can assure you I am not a saint, 
but never have been convicted'of wromigdioinig. 

Helen — That is quite commoni, sur; for the law's per- 
version makes many a. thafe a church deacon whot has a 
face for Sunday an' one foir other days. 

Curry — Then you think the laws are bad? 

Helen — Never a bit, but the divil sames to preside over 
the jury box and judge so often thart these poor fellas 
sometimes convict the wrong man, and let the thafe with 
a stovepipe go fray. 

Curry — ^The lawyers are largely to blame for such mis- 
carriage of justice. 

Helen — Yis, but thin, sur, they are only human, an', 
like the big prachers, are alius called where the largest 



96 

fays and salaries are obtainable. The trouble is we all 
are made of d^fl'erent strakes of mud, intermingled with 
good and ill is such a way that charity should fill each 
soul with sympathy and mete out punishment to those 
who err with justice tempered largely with the tinder 
hand of mercy. 

Curry — Well, we have not time to build new castles 
for the temple of philosophy. Let evolution dio its work, 
and we our little part of it. 

My wish is knowledge of your cookery. 

Helen — My tongue is not a braggart bast to^ prate of 
what I know. I only wish you give me trial, sur, and if 
I canniot cook the round from little herring up to steaks 
of nine-horned elk, you may declare me cheat, unworthy 
of yo'ur further care. 

Curry — What is your name? 

Helen — Betty Maloney, sure. 
My grandmither was second cousin to the thirty-third 
gineration of Saint Patrick's footman. 

Currv — Well, Miss Maloiney, I am disposed to try you, 
and if found as pert in work as tongue I think our en- 
gagement wili be endurable. Come this way, and view 
the color of your opportunity. 

Exit. 



97 

Act 3, Scene 6. Kitchen of Prison. 

Enter Curry and Betty. 

Curry — Sing, this is Betty Maloina. 
She chief cook of the kitchen. Do whatever she tell you 
without question. This is Lena, Miss Maloney; the 
helper. I hope you will agree, amd shall expect the meals 
on time. 

Exit Curry. 

Betty (inspecting the place) — Dirt, dirt, distressingly, 
and unadulterated with a single spot of common decency. 
What a task and what distemper had I in seeking it. But 
the die is cast, and die I will or do' the job in measure 
credible. I'll burnish up these dingy wallis with scrub- 
bing brush, skins, flower cuts and evergreens, arranged 
in such a way as to make the place inhabitable. Sing, 
will you bring in some wood. Lena, these are awful 
dirty rags. Will you wash them, please. 

Sing (aside to Lena) — Me no like wolm, 
She too muchy dalm smart — run this 
Way, thien runny this way. Me too muchy 
No sabby Ilishman. 

Lena, so, so. She no good, I no mine 
Her. She no like one Spanish senorita. 

Enter Mr. Mooney (the steward, singing.) 

Dear Erin, thy lasses are charming 
As blithely they rake in the hay ; 



98 

Laughing while aiding the farming, 
And blushinig like roses of May. 

Sweet Brin, the fairest and greenest, 
A gem on the lap of the sea, 

With wit o-f thv people the keenest, 
O Erin, I sing one tO' thee. 
Enter Sing (with a load of wood.) 

Mooney — Oh, oh ! yon blasted hathen. 
You've ruined me toes ! 

Take that, an' that ! (Striking Sing with a whip) 
And you that ! (Striking Lena' for laughing.) 
Enter Betty. 

Betty — Bar your whip, Mr. Mooney, 
The Chinaman is not to blame. 
'Twas your swagger that knoicked the 
Wood on yer toes. 

Mooney— -To blazes wid yer, woman ! 
Do yer mane to stand betwane me duty 
And meself? 

Betty — An' is it yer duty to bate people? 

Mooney— Y is, when they nade it. 
And thin a hathen Chinese is not people, 
For he has no soul and has a bast for a 
Mither, falls down to a wooden god 
An' ates rats for a livin'. 



99 

Betiij — "Tis not for the like of yez to 
Judge oi papels souls, an' a hathen is 
One that acts hatheniish, and a hathen 
Without brains could tell the hathen 
In this rumpus. 

Mooney — Betty Maloney, an' does yez 
Take the part of a hathen fernist one 
(^f yer own race and color? 

Betty — 1 take the pairt oi right, as I 
See it, whether it be in favor of a 
Hathen Chinese or a hathen Irishman. 

Mooney — Betty Maloney, yer tongue 
Is sharper than an adder's tooth, 
An' its pison makes me green in 
Half a minute, so I'll bid the top of 
The morning to yez. 

Exit Mooney. 

Sing — You belly good wolm, 
Heap sabby. Him steward belly bad 
Man. Chinaman too muchy dalm 
Phule. No sabbv his mudder. 
You telle what do. Me wolkey alle 
Same as my bludder. 

Enter Dr. Duff. 

Dr. Duff — Here, Betty, I want some 
Warm water and rags. This boy has 
A broken arm, by the premature explosion 
Of a quarry blast, and the fracture 

LcfC. 



lOO 

I; SO bad that the member will 
Have to be amputated. 

Betty — With careful setting and nursing: 
Don't you think it might be saved, docther? 

Doctor — Perhaps, but I have neither 
Time ncr patience to fool away half a day 
In this caise. Moreover, there is no one 
Here to give him the care and nursing 
Necessary. 

Betty — Please, docther, place the child 
In condition for nursing and I will 
Do the rest. 

Doctor — You know nothing of nursing 
Mangled arms. Moreover, your place 
Is in the kitchen to grub stake this 
Inistitution. 

Betty — Sure, an' I know that, docther. 
But thin I have a little strake of humanity 
Left wid me yet. The lad's sintence 
Is for small oflfense, an' soon he'll be 
Free again. Then what can he do wid 
One hand for a livin'? 

Doctor — Pshaw, woman ! You are altogether 
ToO' tender hearted for a place like this. 
When I was surgeon in the war with 
Mexico I used to slash off arms and 
Legs with no more concern for the result 



lOI 



Than you have in depriving a spring 

Pullet of her bipeds. (Prepares for the cutting.) 

Bethj — Docther, have you a boy? 

Doctor- — Ye.s, about the age of this one. 
But whait is that of your concern? 

Betty — If this lad was yours, wo'uld 
You cut ofi his arm? 

Doctor — No, certainlv not, until every 
Other remedy had proved inefifectual. 
But this little renegade should not 
Be menitioned in the same breath with 
My boy. He is a fine, mainly fellow. 
In every way worthy of his father, while 
This one is a felon, consequemtly should 
Receive but little con si die rat ion, foir his 
Life is hardly worth preserving. 

Betty — Docther, how dees yomr boy's head 
Compare with this o^ne? 

Doctor — In every way superior. Round, 
Full, with every organ properly developed, 
While this fellow h.as moire the head of 
An ape than a human. See its breadth 
Between the ears, denoting large acquisitiveness 
Conjoined with destructiveness, while 
His flat pate, low, receding forehead and 
Frontal narrowness indicate small intellect, 
With almost total absence of reverence 



I02 

And moral perception. 

Betty — Docther, is the bov to blame 
For his mental and physical make-up? 

Doctor — Well, I can't say he is. 
The origin of some of his mental 
Deficiencies probably run back through 
The blood oi generations, but then the 
Guiding hands and influence of home 
Should check and sway obedience 
In a youth like this. 

Betty — But then, perhaps, he had no 
Home in truth nor mother's care to check 
The criminal predomni)ate and guide him 
From the evil way. 

Doctor — God help him, then, or drift 
He must to deeper depths of sin. 

Betty — The Lord helps none that cannot 
Help themselves, so when a crater is warped 
And dwarfed by circumstances out of its 
Control, the only hope of betterment 
Must come from those who were from 
Circumstances better born and raised. 
Methinks Divinity did so intend, 
And all the prates of strutting consequence 
Will not relieve them from this duty 
In the sight of God. 

Doctor — You talk severely, woman, of 



T03 

People better than yourself ! Curb 
Your flying tongue and learn submissively 
That place and wealth control all 
Kingdoms of the world, make respectability 
And mentor society without a skip in 
Human destiny. 

Betty — I know that many people hug 
This shekel god, as does the Devil 
Fondle with his ugly tail. 
But Christ taught otherwise, and broke 
His bread amog the lowly, where now 
Are foimd his truest followers, who give 
Of their mite to charity with loving hearts. 
Which in the sight of God outweigh great 
Gifts bestowed with ostentation. 
The treasures of this world are surely 
Found in little helps, that lift a brother 
From the ruts of his discouragement. 
And with a tender word po'int upward 
For a greater consolation. 
This bov does seem misfortune's child. 
And shall we help him to a greater 
One by cutting of¥ his arm? 
Does duty to humanity point that 
Way? If your own boy had no other 
Way of making a living but by his 
Hands, would you sever them with 
Heartless unconcern? 



TG4 

Dsdor — Your words arc irormv cx)d, 
Svcctened with tbe depths of kindiT 
Sentmieat ; tfaer i^ace the gloiriiig coals 
Among mj memories,, jet bold the 
Bahn in Gilead to the wonnded and 
Bid me dbaost between the stream of 
Urins: water and the barrang lake where 
Conscience hath acqnittancs:. 
I^tifnl are the {Mtiless;soI shall 
Foflow joor sa^:gestion and sare 
The bar's arm. 

Brfff— ^laj the l^esang of Saint Patrick 
Fan npon yoa^ docther^ for this resc: t 
Hoe's the wadio- and the rags. Set 
And I win do the rest. 

E^ Dodm- amd B09. 

EmUr Wmrdem Cwrry. 

Cuny — BettT, we have another b^d 
Case that needs toot imroe&te 
Attention. 

BfUgr — An' iriiat b it now. Mister 
Carry? 

CMrry— It is ofa jom^ coorict. 
Very k]«r with t3pplioid Sever, and 
II not carefidlj mirMd can not live 
Three days. 

BMf — ^Faith^ an' Fm alwavs ready'' 



105 

To help a poor crater. Where will I find 
Him, Mister Curry? 

Curry — In the new stone cell to 
The right, on the way to the quarry, 
Not vet roofed in. 

Betty (in great agitation) — My God. is it 
He? 

Ctzrr?/— He? Who? \\'hat's the matter, 
Woman, are you ill? 

Betty (sitting d'ow^n) — Yes. Give m< some 
Water, Lena. 
Excuse me for this weakness, Misther 
Curr\\ for sure me heart is so 
Tinder for the distressed that I 
Fale all gone like whin I hear 
Of a new case. 

Where's the kav to the cell, Misther 
Curry? 

Curry — Here it is — but remember 
I will hold you responsible should 
The prisoner escape while the key 
Is in your possession. 

Betty — An' do you think a man 
Is trying to run away with a low faver? 

Curry — But he may get better. 

Betty — In the name of all the saints 
May it be so. 

Exit Citrrif. 



io6 



Yes, it is Will Sidden, my own, 

Dyinig in that cold, damp cell where 

I visited him that black, dismal night 

Four weeks since. 

O cruel fortune, hide me from 

Myself and dull the pangs of memory 

Capped with this last great sorrow. 

When once the poise of simple life 

Is loose and drifts the tide of 

Fortune toward the Stygian Sea, how vain 

Appears the struggle with environments 

That hedge and blacken all the 

Horizon oif hope. 

But those who love can never lag in 

Duty to the living, though grief takes 

Off the edge of every pleasure. 

So melancholy shall not bind me 

To his dismal car, for conscious duty 

Well performed will strengthen ever faithful 

Heart until the stars gO' down. 

And when they fail there surely is 

Reward for noble work beyooiid their setting. 

Come, Lena; let us seek that adamantine 

Cell, where life does flicker as a lamp 

Untrimmed and death is hanging up 

His sable curtain. 

Exit Betty and Lena. 



107 

Enter Ctirri/. 
Curry — Sin^, where's the cook? 
Sing — Gone to see one plissner, 
\'elly sick. 

Curry — Everything very nice now, Sing? 

Sing — Heap sabbe, velly good 
Vv^olum, aJle s me as one angel. 
See, see, see. (Sing shows Curry around.) 

Curry — Does she scold you? 

Sing — Scole me? Alle same as one 
Kitten. She say Sin ;. wille you do' 
This? Den she looke me, an' her eye 
Make one litning go alle way down to 
My toe. I no sabbe. She say, Sing, 
You go to heb^en. I climb rite up 
To the top of house. She say, Sing, 
You go to de debble. I go hang myself. 
Me dunno. Me no sabbe wolum. She 
Talk sweet an' smile. Me my bres' go thump- 
ta-thump alle same as one fool Melican 
Man. Me dunno. Me no sabbe. 
She no Ilish wolum — hep smart 
Vely good. Me dunno. 

Enter Betty and Lena. 

Curry — Well, Betty, how's the sick 
Man? 



io8 

Betty — Bad indade, siir, an' will 
Surely die, the docther savs, unless 
Removed from the din in which 
He is confined. 

Have yiou not a better place to 
Give him, Misther Curry, plase? 

Curry — I think of nothing for improvement. 

Betty — Then may the good Lord help 
His soul, for he's surelv lost. 

Curry — Oh, yes ; I have it. 
Pat Mooney's roo^m is vacant since 
His discharge. The one with the 
Dormer w^indow, second story, adjoining 
The chapel facing the court. 
You may have the patient taken up 
There. 

Betty — May yon live a thousand 
Years for this kind favor, Misther 
Curry ; be as happy as the saints 
And have a friend for everv leaf 
That rustles in the wind. 
Come, Lena. 

Exit Betty and Lena. 

Curry — By my soul, this woman is a 
Strange creature. In the garb of ignorance 
And drudgery, yet withal the kindest 
Heart I ever knew. 



log 

How near is all humanity together — 

When the sordid selfishness, begotten 

By the pride of place or circumstance 

Is torn asunder through misfortune. 

Assuredly there is divinity in man. 

But those who worship place, or Mammon 

As a god, perhaps engendered by their 

Antecedents or the fear O'f want. 

Have by degrees wound about themselves 

A robe of selfishmess so dense 

That penetration is impoissible 

Short of great calamity. 

While a simple child of nature 

Like this girl, un warped by hollow mockeries 

Of pride, nor poisoned by the fan^s 

Of ostentation^ carries heaven in her 

Bosom daily, and as the sun that 

Has no partialitv, beamis on the utmost 

Of the world benignantly. 

When will we learn humility and measure 

The value of each soul by the good 

That from it emanates? 

Exit. 

Act 3, Scene 7. Garden and Prison Grounds. 

Enter Betty, Lena and Br. Duff. 

Doctor — A glorious morning. Miss Maloney, 
The sun hath put a golden robe on all 



no 

The trees and every flower opens out 
Its heart in adoration of the One 
Who g-ave them life and stamina of kind 
And flushed their many colors with a brush 
Divinely charged. 

Betty — Beautiful conception, yet my sense 
Is blind, while anxious care emcompass me 
With wraps the deepest sable. 
How seems the prisc<ner, enchained 
By death's g-reat envoy? 

Doctor — Better, most decidedly. 
The climax of the case has passed 
And consciousness returning slowly, as 
A wanderer from land oif fantasies. 
The baffled monster is now gathering up 
The remnants of dominion lost foT flight 
To other fields and pastures new. 

Betty — Sweet heaven ! 
How thy glory smiles upon the earth 
And all the world seems beautiful to me, 
As when a rainbow spans a somber cloud. 
Come, Lena, to tine chapel service, where 
On this peaceful Sabbath we will praise 
The Giver of all Good and prone the knee 
In humble invocation. 

Exit Betty and Lena. 

Doctor — What a woman she does seem to me, 



Ill 



The living image of a servant, yet 
A soul center of the beautiful 
In thoug-ht and action. 
How strange it is we know so little of 
Ourselves and less of those about us ! 
The sweetest harps are strung by nature, 
Ready to the hiand of him who comprehends 
He is a part and hath relationship to all 
The universe and that each soul is from a 
Common source and intermingle in another 
World, with light and shade to fix their several 
Antecedents, jeweled with their crowns of worth 
Or ragged in their desolation of neglected 
Opportunity in singing heaven's symphonies 
And helping one another tO' better lives. 

Act 3, Scene 8. Sidden's Sick Chamber. 
(Singing in the distance.) 

Pure are the sweet waters flowing 
In the haven prepared for the blest. 

Where the Lebanon cedars are growing 
And the vines of the kingdom are dressed. 

Fear not the dark shadows dividing 
Time from eternity's home; 

With faith and uprightness abiding, 
Take courage, my brother, and come. 



112 

Farewell. God's glory is growing, 
As soul from moirtal does sever; 

Farewell, Lethe's river on is flowing-, 
That, bears ns on forever. 

Enter Dr. Duff. 

Doctor — Will Sidden, 
You have baffled Atrapos, 
Winged the clutch of Eacus 
And all distempers mortal. 

Enter Betty and Lena. 

And next to heaven you should truly thank 
This walking wonder for relief. 
Her name is Betty Maloney, chief cook, 
Mellow sunlight in these prison walls. 
And, withal, a wonderful woman in 
Her way. 

Siddon — Am I not indebted to yo^u, doictor, for 
The favorable turn my case has taken? 

Doctor — To the value of a pin, perhaps ; 
But medicine at best is but an aid 
Of small account compared to nursing such 
As hers, when Circe sat with you on the edge 
Of time. 

For several days I strove unlaggingly 
To keep you from the sleep of Endymion, 
When like Medea came this wonder, 
Wooing you to life again. 



1^3 

8iddon — Then heaven bless you evermore, 
Good soul, and when oi poise and strength again 
I will reward your ministry as best 
I can, and carry with me to the grave 
Remembrance of the service rendered. 
But soft. The doctor has a finger up 
That bids me company with Hippocrates, 
So peace be with you, let me reach again 
That border land where late I wandered 
Long, a silent river, darkened at 
Its border ; lashing not, her murmur like 
The ocean ; neither could I hear the current 
Rippling, yet could feel its influence 
As one does, sore and weary with 
His pilgrimage, seeks a silent sail 
Or ferryman tO' go he knows not where — 
At last, fatigued beyond endurance longer, 
I heard a voice across the mystic stream 
singing : 

Fear not dark shadows dividing 
Time from eternity's home ; 

With faith and uprightness abiding, 
Take courage, my brother, and come. 

It seemed to me there could be 
No mistake this time. Surely it was 
The voice of my beautiful Helen on 
The other side encouraging my coming. 
So I boldly stepped ofif in the black 



114 

Flood, but the water was so cold and 
The sensation so strange that my eyes 
Were opened and I found myself here. 

Doctor — Well, the moment you reached 
That dark, cold stream and in imagination 
Hear sweet music was that 
In which the soul was trembling on 
The brink of eternity. 
Now the climax has passed, and with 
A little care you will soon be 
Yourself again. 

Exit Doctor^ Betty and Lena. 

Act 3, Scene 9. Prison Kitchen. 

Enter Betty (Sing and Lena in background.) 

Betty — And so he recognized my voice 
And thought me on the nether shore, 
Inviting him to hither come. 
If we were there in truth perhaps it 
Would be conisolaition for us both. 
For life seems but a troubled dream 
At best, with here and there light 
Glimpses of a hope beyond. 
He's well again and now its bruited 
About the wards that on the morrow 
He will be compelled to take his 
Place in line as quarry slave and 



IJ5 

Bend to toil and stripes at will 

Of some great ruffian. 

So' to-day will be the last I'll see 

Of him perhaps for mo-nths. 

What shall I do or whither go? 

This agony of mind doth gnaw 

The heart away and make a charnel 

House oif my existence. 

High heaven, where is thy justice? 

O hell, display assortment 

Of thy miseries, that I may 

Recognize wherein is woe and sorrow 

Worse than this. 

Here I in happiness comparable 

Could drudge my hfe away, hedged 

About with all its dark environments, 

If this red blot of crimson upon his 

Hands could wash itself away 

In the crystal stream of truth 

Not yet revealed. 

But then this grief uinibosomed to the stars 

Is vain and futile of relief 

For destiny seems sitting stolid in 

His car of state, and with an iron 

Finger bends and sways each human wish, 

As does a wind the trembling willow boughs. 

Yet, come what will, my thirst can never quench 

In stagnant waters passed. 



116 

The present is the door ajar for work 
And opportunity. To-morrow may 
Not come to me, and so this half-flown day 
Shall not brow on the border of the world 
Until I stand revealed to William Sidden. 
Wild may be this last resolve, but then 
It seems the only hope that's lo left me. 

Act 3, Scene lo. Dining Room, Officers at Dinner. 
Enter Betty with coffee pot. 

Curry — I have a bit of new^s, Betty, 
That may coiijcern you much. 

Betty— WhSit is it, Misther Curry? 

Curry — Well, you will remember 
That fellow Sidden whom you saved 
From boxing and a funeral service. 

Betty— WtW, what of him? 

Curry — He has been pardoned. 

Betty — Pardoned I Pardoned, did you say? 

(Spiling the cofifee.) 

Curry — Well, not exactly. The Governor 
Has ordered Siddeni's release, his innocence 
Of the crime charged having been 
Fully established. ' 

Betty — Let me see the papers. 

Curry — Here they are. 



117 

Betty (reading)— - 

Territory of Nevada — Executive Depiartmer.it. 
To all whom these present come, greeting: 

I, James W. Nye, Governor of Nevada Territory m 
the name and by the authority of the people of said 
Territoiry, do by these presents declare : That it having 
come to my knowledge thro»ugh the dying confessioin 
of one Lo Loreno, co-upled with ample corroborative 
testimony to establish the fact that said Loi Loreno was 
the actual murderer o'f Jerry Jessup, killed in Virs^inia 
City, April 29, 1859, for which crime William; Sidden 
was apprehended, tried, convicted and senteniced tO' a 
term at hard labor, and is at this time serving out the 
sentence of the court. 

Therefore, in consideration of the facts above stated, I 
hereby direct Abram Curry, Warden of the Territoria 
Prison under his charge, to immediately release from 
confinement and set at liberty the person of William 
Sidden. 

In witness whereof I have hereuntoi set my hand and 
caused the great seal of said Territory to be affixed at 
Carsion City this 24th day of May, in the year of our 
Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-twO'. 

JAMES W. NYE, 
Governor of Nevada Territory. 
Attest : 

ORION CLEMENS, 

Secretary of State. 



ii8 

Sweet Heaven ! 

This shaft of glory shatters all 

Our chainjs and arches space with 

Hanging rainbows. 

Mr. Curry, may, may I take this 

Paper tO' the prisoner please? 

Curry — Surely, if you wish, but 
Still my duty bids me follow you. 

Exit Betty, Curry and 'Officers. 

Act 3, Scene ii. Siddon's Room. 
Enter Betty and Officers. 

Betty — Oh, Will, you are pardoned! No, not pardoned, 
but set at liberty, because your innocence has been fully 
established. 

Siddon — Are you really in earnest, Betty? 

Betty — Certainly. Here's the papers. See for your- 
self. Dear Will, how happy I am to know you are free 
and not a blemish on your noble name. 

Siddon — VVell^ Miss Malona, I am under obligations 
for your care and kind consideration, but 

Betty (hysterically laughing) — And Miss Malona, is it 
sure? (Running to a basin in the corner, washing ofif the 
paint, doffing gown and wig, shaking out her six-inch 
curls; turning to the astonished Siddon in a blaze of joy 
and beauty.) 
How now, good soul? 



119 

Can coons and speckled leopards change their skins, 
Or painted woman have a soul within? 

Siddoii — Oh, apparition of the blest ! 
Do I dream, or does reality 
Hedge the border of my visions with 
A form that hath not prototype in all 
The world? 

Helen — No dream afifects the mortal sight, 
But substance real — pith of womanhood. 
Your own devoted Helen sure, and once 
The apple of your eye. 

Siddon — Yea, more; the consolation of my heart, 
And hope of all my future years. 
To-night I'll hang a lamp of mellow light 
Among the stars, and beg sweet Venus guard 
It there forevermore as talisman 
For every one who dares to love and die, 
If need be, in defense of it. 

Curry — This ends the roll of your adventure, 
Leaving the prison desolate and cookless. 
Here are the wages for the term you've 
Served, and grateful memory from 
Every sioul within these walls that hold 
The obduracy of the state. 
And, Sidd'on,, here's your couterments, 
Gleaned when vou entered here. 
Among the lot I find you have 



120 

Just fifty shares of Ophir stock. 
Each share is worth five hundred dollars. 
Sell it soon, for Comstock king-s 
Who lord it in this land, can make 
Or break the market in a day, 
And turn to tramps the common herd 
Of buckers at the royal tiger. 

Exit Curry and Officers. 

Siddon — How sudden is this change ! 
It staggers sense to recognize my 
Own identity, and like a top my head 
Runs round upon my shoulders. 
What shall we do^, my love, and whither go? 

Helen — If two are twain, and pledged troth, 
With hearts that beat as one, with fortune 
At the door and home awaiting them, 
What would you in a like afifair propose? 

Siddon — tMarriage. Surely nothing else 
Can fill the aching voiid in such lives. 
So, come. The parson's ministry we'll seek; 
Then cash my stock, and speed away to old 
Kentucky for a honeymoon. 

Exit. 

Act 4, Scene i. Judge Dane's Home. 
Enter Jiidge Dxine, Wife and Augusta. 
JudgA Dane — Augusta, your soiourn here 



: T2T 

Has been three months, and I have oft observed 
Your indisposition to mention home or 
Husband. What is the matter over 
The mountains? 

Augusta — Much matter, father. I have 
Neither home nor husband any longer. 

Judge Dane — What meanest thou by 
Such a speech as that? 

Augusta — Mr. Winton, jealous of a shadow 
Finding lodgment in the ricket of 
The nerves to such extent that hoodoios hatched 
Full-fledged in his disordered mind, 
Did crawd between us like so many 
Skeletons enwrapped in mummy cloth, 
And there they lay sio near his little heart. 
With whispering of things that happened not, 
Until the serpent green had mirked 
His manly vision in a way that lost 
The anchorage of balanced sanity. 
Then, with a rasping speech, moist low and foul. 
He plied the dregs of ribaldry until 
The compass of my destiny did run 
Its needle round the digit stretch, and yet 
Oscillates without a resting place. 

Judge Dane — Tut, woman ! Turn 
Your tongue to better counsel with 
Yourself, and dragnet all these 



122 

Flashy minnows from your speech. 

Patience hath no monument on which 

To sit in this affair, so bottle up 

Your umbrage, cork it down with common sense, 

Anifl, with contritioni, set about your pack 

Of things you wish returning home. 

Augusta — T have nol: semblance of 
A home, if forced beyond your threshold ; 
Foir home is where the best affections are, 
And linked with golden chain to those we love. 
I am content to be your kitchen drudge. 
Run the needle, spin the gloissy flax. 
Scrub, or lather d"rty linen, but 
To be mcide slave and jibe at one fell swoop 
Seems pitiless in he who thus ordains. 
Your will to me has ever been as law. 
And more I have, as satellite about 
Its central hold. 
I pray you not dispel affinity, 
Potr the aberration of a soul 
That loses hope is lost indeed. 
So', as a child to this brink, dutiful, 
I do beseech you give me leave to plead. 
And with indulgence hear my tale of woe. 

Judge Dane — No, Augusta. As defendant in 
This suit now rest your case. 
The judgment of the court is that 
You do forthwith return to threshold of 



123 

Your husband, sue for peace, and make 
It possible by gentle will and breadth 
Of condescension ever manifest. 

Mrs. Dane — Augusta is within the pale 
Of woman's right, and I do dare tO' 
Succor her. 

Your words are cold and caustic to 
The ear, and oft I've felt their 
Grinding force from heart to fingers' ends, 
Yet curbed my temper for a patched-up 
Peace, but is a woman but a whiff 
Of ribbons blown about by every wind, 
Who dares not say her soul's her own? 
And that she has a modicum of pride 
And conscience deeper than the wraps 
About her foirm? 

Now, if the child cannot a wife to 
Winton be, let the tide of her great 
Sorrow ebb and flow about her early home. 
This checkered life is bad enough at best, 
Then why gad and woimd a grief 
When consolation heals the rankest sore? 
'Tis true that this affair may lose us 
Pride, but pride hath never far to fall 
That wrings a heart for blood to sate 
Its own distemper in. 

Judge Dane — How now? Such pique 
Is new to me ! An ansrel turned to 



124 

Wormwood in its age. w.-ith darting^ 
Tongue that stirs the marrow in my 
Bones, and flnrries up mv wonted dignity I 
Tis enough ! Fve said that back she must 
To husband go. So prepare for transit 
On the morrow. 

Exit an. 

Act 4, Scene 2. A S:ree: in San Francisco. 

Enter Happy Jack (singing). 

Her eves are like the stars of evening. 

Set in the azure of the deep. 
Where angels hover while receiving 

Prayer to God from those who weep. 

Her form is lovely, art-consuming, 
Chiseled Greek and Venus pose. 

With health in all her features beaming. 
Mingled lilv with the rose. 

Her footprint shames a Cinderella ; 

Breathes she sweetness full and warm. 
Without a gist of bright prunella. 

Lives she faultless as a charm. 

Enter Berring. 
Barring — Hello. Jac>, you sawing boards again? 
Such harmonv wUl set the street astir 
With grinning teeth, and stop the mellow kty 
Of paddle ft-ogs to hear a broths sing. 



125 

When wits are out a fellow soon may lose 
A jaw with hollow stuff like that. 
You surely come on other business here. 
What have you learned of fair Augusta, 
And her future plans? 

Happy Jacl' — ^fy work has been propitious, for 
I caught the housemaid on the hip with mock 
Of dainty compliment, and making of 
Myself her shadow, when she wished 
Unstinted service, so to such extent 
Did I get in her simple graces that 
The very knot-holes in the Judge's house 
Have given up their secrets freely as 
A blabber in the market-place. 

Berring — Well, let the jingo go. Give me the facts. 

Happy Jack — Augusta, gloomy, silent as the halls 
Of ruined castle, moves about as does 
A phantom nursing its own misery. 
Thus weeks have passed with her like train 
Of tramping mourners with a bier ! 
But yesterday there came a change, 
As when the toiling sea does long contrive 
To keep an equipoise, a storm brews on 
Its face, and all its depths do tremble on 
The brink of desolation. 

Berring — Cut off the wooly length of this 
Fantastic tale, and let me have the pith 



126 

And marrow of your mciiLhing. 

Happy Jack — The pith of it is this : 
The Judge, like some great walking-beam, 
Unused to let or hindrance, got down 
To business in Augusta's case. 
With look and mien, foster brother to 
A thunderbolt, goared down into her heart 
To find the cause why she had lingered there. 
So long unmindful ol her marriage vow. 
When told the reason, and the ruin wrought 
Within her home by green-eyed jealousy, 
And hence the flight to seek her mother's arms- 
The miaster with a bluster like the wind 
When cornered in a wheezing calliope, 
Bid his daughter pack her scanty srip 
And be prepared to board the ferry in 
The morning, for the sapphire city. 
Thence to Sacramento, on the way 
To home in bleak Nevada. 

B erring— Where stop they in this haste? 

Happy Jack — It is not eked with certainty. 
Yet dignitv and love of trapping show 
Swell dinner, Dane and daughter at the Lick. 
But be thou wary, Herring, people talk. 
And calumnv doth scent you in the breeze. 

Berring — Ah, people talk, I know it well, 
And hell doth blaze with its efifrontery. 



127 

The tongue of slander murks the work of God 
And gives an appetite for garbage rotten ; 
For envv is a monster bred so foul 
And nurtured in the lap oif littleness, 
That innuendo is the end it feeds upon, 
And washes virtue with its slimy brush. 
Bathed in a cup of gall. 

Its serpent fang strikes in the sweetest flesh 
And drips its rankness covertly upon 
The heart of purity, that with its help 
The venom of the damned may poison all 
The beauty of the woirld. 
Happy Jack — Aye, sir ; 
You strike home with yoiur burning words 
And coin a medal worthy of the ghouls 
You neck it om ! 

Exit Happy Jack (singing) : 
All is well that's ending well, 

And virtue has its innings ; 
Tlie Devil has a world to sell, 

Obtained by small beginnings. 

Berring — However compromising this afifair 
May seem, I have no thought of ill ; 
It surelv is commendable to chooise 
A noble woman as a friend, else what 
Is friendship but a mockery? 
To see a creature wronged that more deserves 



128 

A favor, does in compassion worry me. 
Not an inch beyotnd decorum have 
I gone ; and since suspicion's foulest breath 
Hath caused her casting off, shall I stand here 
Like a mummy petrified with fear 
And see the life crushed out oi her? 
No, not if all the devils in the land 
Shall back at me. 

At least I'll see her ere she goes, and give 
A word of council in this trying hour. 
Perhaps I can suggest solution that 
Will turn the tables in this game of chance. 

Exit 

Act 4, Scene 3. Hotel Parlor. 

Entei- Judge Dane and Augusta. 

Judge Dane — Here, Augusta, is your 
Ticket. The boat leaves Washington^street wharf 
For Sacramento at four o'clock. 
A hack will be at the hotel door at 
Three-thirty to take you and baggage 
Down. 

Now, all things having been arranged 
For your departure, and since the last 
Boat crossing the bay leaves at three 
O'clock, giving me only half an hour 
To' reach it, I must now bid you 



129 

Good-b}e. 

May Gcd bless oHid restore yen 

To your home end husband. 

Exii Judge Dane. 

Augusta — In the desolatioin of this hour 
Do I dream ,or has reality 
Burnt out the hope oi happiness to come? 
An cutcast and a ruined wife without 
A fault of mine. 

'Tis true that little miolehills of the mind 
Oft grow tO' mounitains. when the balance oi 
A faith is lost through jealousy or warp 
Unnatural by process least 
Expected, and realization comes of such 
Calamities, we then review the past 
And see wherein there was a scanty chance 
Of betterment if taken on the slips. 
But now it is too late to remedy 
The past or ^^^eep for that which might have been. 
So' I will smother breathings of this sort 
And take resignedly the tenor of 
My seeming destiny, and always hope 
The favor of stern Atropos. 

Enter Berring. 

Herring — I beg indulgence for 
This rude intrusion om your privacy, 
But hearing of your soon departure for 
Nevada, and wishing- for a word before 



T30 

You go, i venture thus presumptuousi}'. 

Auijusta — This bash cf ycurs surprises me 
Amazingly, and breaks decorum in 
The teeth ot time. 

Berring — 1 do concede the manner of 
My coming is a lag in etiquette, 
But ill can hardly have lodgment where 
111 is least intended. 

Friend should surely counsel with a friend, 
When cloiuds obscure the dusky horizon 
And agony of soul seeks solace in 
A friendly word. 

Augusta — Your speech is surely sensible, 
And since I stand upo'U the dangerous 
Border O'f uncertainty, with pits 
On every hand that bode me sorrow, I 
Can hardly wish your presence goine, 
Though primped propriety hardly sianotiions it- 
What hiave yo»u of advice to offer me ? 

Berring — I thank y<m for this opportunity, 
And shall no bing of alum ofifer you, 
But rather balm of time to heal the wound 
That heartless usaee hath imposed. 
We will not haggle over what hajs passed, 
A sore that's often probed will never heal ; 
The best is but to scab it over with 
Fiorgetfulness, and assuage the fever on 



131 

Its border with the oil that flows from faith 
In God, with thoughts of duty uppermost. 
While beauty of a wonnaTi, coupled with 
The sweetest worth and chastity are held 
In high esteem by all the goiod and true, 
Yet there is often heaped upon her head 
By gibbering ghouls a thousand importunities. 
And in this amplitude of woirth rests yoiur 
Offense, as owls hawk at the sun. 
A sorul misjudged by yellow circumstance 
That flies its foul enrviromments sho'uld not 
Recruit its ruin by returning. 

Augusta — I'hen in thiis perturbed and sore 
Dilemma, do yoti counsel me to go 
Not over toi Nevada? 

Berring — As I would a gentle sister, thrawled 
And hedged about with villainies. 

Augusta — Then whither shall I go? 

Berring — To Europe. 

Augusta — Impossible! I've neither friends 
Nor money for a trip like that. 

Berring — I will furnish funds tO' round the trip 
And more ; I have some trusted friends who go 
By steamer on the morrow for the East, 
Thence directly to the Continent. 

Augusta — How can I brave a father's will? 



132 

Berring — A father's will is sacred to 
A loving child, but for a woman grown 
And lashed to raft that with a swing starts out 
To sea, thonged there by her father's will, 
Hath she mot in truth a human right 
To break her bonds and make escape? 

Augusta — Perhaps. But then I cannot obligate 
Myself to you in way c'O'mpromising 
For every big and little fish that bobbed 
About the straining boat would surely have 
A serpent's tongue tO' venom all the voyage. 

Berring — Perhaps, but then I simply make the loan 
Of money necessairy for the trip, 
To be returned at any time that suits 
Your least embarrassment, and be assured 
That not a digit of yo'ur smallest hair 
Shall owe me obligation. 

Avyusta — My child. What will become 
Of her? 

Berring — She is now safe within yo'Ur mother's fold, 
Which means a charge that wavers not an inch 
In duty to her blood. 
Will you go? I see you hesitate. 
And surely reasomable you should 
For prudence hangs upon your skirts and begs 
An interview, while justification 
Stands before, with scale unsteady in 
The doubtful balance, yet the die is cast 



T33 

Not by your wish, but destiny is black 
On any other road you turm. 

Aiignsta — Your plea seems in a measure sensible 
And most seductive, but the greatness of 
The power wealth do'es give yoii places me 
On shoTt allowance of respect shoiuld you 
But waver in fidelity of promise. 

Berrinn — Ah, madam, much of money often is 
A danger great. It represents a man 
Or woman standing on the apex oif 
A mionument, with ome foot in the air 
And sawing arms to keep its equipoise. 
The only greatness comprehensible 
To God is truth, which dwells forever in 
His woirks and to each mortal manifest. 
My word stands sacred in this case. 

Augusta — Your proposal staggers me in sweep 
And leaves me naught but words to lean upon, 
With quicksands at my feet in which I bog 
Distressingly. 

When I would answer yes, tbere's tugging at 
My conscienie. forcing up a troubled no; 
Memory revisits me and speaks 
Of friends and relatives most deeply grieved 
At thought of hazzard so imcommon. 
While doubt in agony sits gloomy on 
Its Dedestal, with face tear-stained and eyes 



134 

All red with their weeping. 

Berring — Accept the proffer, then. 
And all the ill that comes, of it shall be 
My shadow while I live, and here and now 
Will bond my sbul and all possessions on 
The earth that 

All I say and all I g^ive or do 
Shall be as free from taint or selfish end 
As welling water from the crystal springs 
In paradise. 

Augusta — Then I accept the profifered aid, 
And here's my hand to bind my faith 
In all you've said. 

Berring — 'Tis well, and good will come of it 
If right is might in God's ordaining. 
To-morrow 1 will call again to check 
Your baggage at the wharf and see 
You fairly off. 

ExU all. 

Act 4, Scene 4. San Franciscoi Dock. 

(Passengers going aboard, parting of friends, ringing 
of bell.- 

Steamer Mate — ''All aboard for Panama." 

Enter Augusta at)d friends, Sidden and wife. 
"Down with the gangway. 
Let go the stern line." 



135 

Mrs. Bidden (leaning en her husband's arm) 
Will, there sits a lady by the mast 
I have most surely seen before. 
She seems in great distress, witn eyeballs red 
And look that does betoken misery. 
May I, in sympathy, a word with her? 

Sidden — Pshaw, my dear, the world is full of grief^ 
And how can you assuage it with a word 
Or lullaby poured in a stranger's ear? 
A kitten with a tender foot would smile 
At yo'Ur persistency in helping it. 

Mrs. Sidden — Suppose you had a well 
That ram above its curb a fiow of water, 
Wasting for lack of use, would you 
Deny a sip or two of it to some 
Poor thirsty soul? 

Sidden — Not if I know myself. 

Mrs. Sidden — Then why deny me like relief? 
Even little naiads, singing in 
The wooded streams, delight in charming those 
Whoi come to^ drink with them. 

Sidden — Ah, well ; whioi can argue with a charm 
Or bar confines to loving sentiment? 
Therefore I follow where you choose tO' lead. 

Mrs. Sidden (approaching Augusta) — 
Pardon this intrusion, 
For your face suggests to memory 



136 

That I before have met you somewhere in 
The world. 

Augusta — Perhaps. All things seem possible 
To one who's reached beyond its common sphere 
Into the realm of impossibles. 

Mrs. Sidden — If I mistake not your identity, 
We met in Carson City several months 
Ago, and lodged together in a room 
In that O'ld log-built hostelry. 

Augusta — Yes, I do remember now% 
Your name is Helen Jessup. 

Afrs. Sidden — That was my name, but now it is 
Mrs. Sidden; here's my better half. 

Augusta — And chano^ed you are 
As does the dark and gloiom of night 
Into a rapture of delight, 
That only moirning can unfold 
With beaming sun and glints of gold. 

Mrs. Sidden — A shining compliment surel}^, 
But then, when shadows lift and all the clouds 
Are gone, w^hy should the sun refuse to shine 
Again? How fare yoiu now, Augusta? 

Augusta — As a rose that's withered, leaning on 
A darkened wall, with scanty warmth of sun 
Or hope oif betterment. 

Exit Sidden. 



137 

Mrs. Sidden — How glorious seems the closing- day, 
With streamiing light upon the level of 
The sea^ sentineled b}- the fairy cloud 
In silver raiment near the horizon 
To rinig the curtain down, when leaves the stage 
The burning eye of Ormuzed. 

Augusta — Ccnception worthy of thyself, bright one, 
The light and glory of the world to thee 
Ts emanation from your loving heart 
Without a shadow darker than a star. 
To me the blazing orb O'f day is but 
I3istill of blood, absiorbed from battlefields 
Of all the world, while standing still toi view 
The carniage, and the rolling deep sings 
Requiems to hetacombs of dead 
Despoiled of life by her, that swing and rock 
Forever in their coral cradles. 
Heaven is a phantom ship that sails 
On summer seas, umlogged or baffled by 
Contrary winds, 

While hell is hope delayed and conscience 
Gnawing at the sieat of memory. 
But then the past has sealed her casket full 
Of good and ill, and all the world of art 
Can not unlock it for recovery 
Of a single minute squandered 
Ait the sacrifice of duty. 



1-^8 



Enter Doctor and many others. 
Doctor — Ladies, we have another genuine 
Case of Asiatic cholera on board. 
It appears in the person of the lovely 
Little wife of Mr. Summerville, wlioise 
Body was consigned to the deep only a few 
Hours since. Is there a lady present 
Who' will volunteer attendance 
When spasm and delirium seize 
The patient? 

Augusta — Doctor, I am at your service. 
Please lead the wav. 

Mrs. Sneider (Augusta's friend, aside) — 
Dare you, Augusta, expose yourself 
To this contagion? 
Surely you will catch it and give it 
To tbe rest of us. Pray leave the doctor 
With his patient. Whait is she to 3^ou? 
A stranger pure and simple. If she dies 
Unaided, what of that? Her husband's 
Gone, and sto she need mot care tO' live. 

Augusta — She is a woman and needs 
A woman's care. Is human nature so 
Unrainly in the sight of God that all 
Thi^' crcAvd of strut and primping beauties 
Shake and blanch with fear when sore 
Calamitv does seek of them a heloine hand? 



139 

If yon were sick with like Complaint 
And left to die among- the captain's crew, 
What sort of blessing would you carry 
To your grave for all this fair array 
Of starch and paint and little souls? 

Mrs. Sneider — Oh, that would be a 
Case unlike this one, for I have 
Friends and relatives on board who 
Would not let me die alonie, but 
This sick woman neither hias. 

Augusta — So much her greater need 
Of stranger friends. 
Blood that's claret should be 
Thickened with a little human sympathy 
Or some such potent agency to manufaoture 
Souls for them that would not 
Shame a Hottentot. 
It hath been truly said that man's 
Inhumanity to man makes countless 
MillioniS mourn. Man's inhumianity 
To woman is still more distressing ; 
But the climax is capped by woman's 
Inhumanity to woman. 

Exit all. 

Act 4, Scene 5. Sick Room. 
Enter Augusta. 
Augusta — How are you, my dear? 



140 

Mrs. Sammerville — Decidedly bad, 
There seems to be no chance for me. 

Augusta — Hope and persevere. (To attendant.) 
Bring me broken ice 
And tell the doctor send me ten grains 
Of calomel rolled in a pill. Quick ! 

Mrs. Summen-iUe — O let me die ! 
My husband calls beyond the river 
At my feet. 

Augusta — Did your husband lo^ve you? 

Mrs. SummervUJe — Yes^ of course he did. 

Augusta — Did you love him? 

Mrs. SummerviUe — Certainly. 

Augusta— Were you not jealous of him? 

Mrs. SummerviUe — Why, no indeed. 

Augusta — And he had perfect confidence 
in vou? 

i¥?'s. SummerDitJc — Most assuredly he did. 

Augusta — Are you quite sure he did not' 
Love some other one better than yourself? 

Mrs. SummervilJe — Lord, womian ! 
How you talk. (Standing up.) What 
Strange questions ycu do' ask ! 
Who put such notions in vour head? 
Where did you learn anything 
AbO'Ut myself and husband? 
Where did vou come from, anvhow? 



141 

Who are yoii ? And What induced 
Your cominsc here to wait on me? 

Augusta — Sit down, my dear, and 
I will tell you. 

I came as nurse because you are 
A woman and need a woman's 
Assistance in your sickness. 
My name is Augusta Winton, from 
San Francisco, and on my w^ay to Europe. 
You are better now. 
One moire sip of this tonic, a Httle 
Mo're ice and you will be well. 
There, that will do. 

iJxit. 
(Rolling the patient from the room in a chair.) 

Act 4, Scene 6. A Street in Paris. 

Enter French Dancing Girl (sings) : 

The lovely Jemmy Flinkers, 

With glasses on his bHnkers, 

I met him with the drinkers 

On the banks of Salomell. 

Saloinell, Salonell, 

On the banks of Salomell. (Dances.) 

He said he wais in love with me, 
So would a loving husband be, 
And dress me downward to the kniee, 
Upon the banks of Salonell. 



142 

Salonell, Salonell, 
Upon the banks of Salonell. 
(Dances off the stag-e.) 
Enter Augusta and friends. 

Augusta — I wonder why 
I have not later news from home? 
Full three months I've lingered here 
For purpose indefinable. 
With even Mr. B erring seemingly 
Indifferent in the matter oif 
My lodgment. 

Mrs. Sneider — Here he comes this moment. 
Enter B erring. 

Berring — I greet you all most lovingly. 
And here's ior you, Augusta, 
A certificate from the County Clerk 
Of Alameda County, California, 
Setting forth the cause ol action and 
The co'Urt's decree annuling marriage 
Vow of yourself to one Nelson W. Winton.. 

(Augusta reads the certificate copy.) 
Now, Augusta, since there is 
No longer legal bar between us, 
May I not hope you'll give your little hand 
And heart in it to me in marriage? 

Augusta — I respect you hig i y, but 
I doubt propriety of union such 
As yon propose, for I am not in love 



M3 

To such extent as justifies a step 
Soi full of weal or woe. 
Time at least should be allowed 
For council ere it be too late. 

Berring — Be it as you wish, Augusta, but 
In this way you hang a shadow in 
The hodzoii of hope, that harbingers ill 
To me aind floioirs thie ladder I had topped 
On coming here. 

Augusta — You said on parting ere 
1 journeyed hence that freedom in all things 
Should be to me uustinted as the sun, 
And that the mioiney loaned to me shoiuld be returned 
At most GO^nivenienit season. 

Berring— -TruQ: indeed, and truth 
Shall follow it to the last farthing. 
But then, as does a foo'lish boy 
Who undertakes to smoke a rabbit from 
The hay, I've fanned this little flame of mine 
Into a ruddy glow that threatens such 
A bom fire in my heart that water can 
Not quench, so if you mean to give me 
Moonshine for your solid self, perhaps 
It would be best to so declare before 
The ruin gets beyond control. 

Augusta — Not so bad as that, I hope. 
It would be sad to start a pyre in 
And run tO' dross so much of manhood. 
In fact, I feel the binding force and strength 



144 

Of oblig'atiions great, and of all men 
I think the most of you, but — 

Berriny — Forbear, Augusta. Not anoither word, 
But let me warp the woof you've put into 
The loiom, and there will grow a web from threads 
Of gossamer, more fair than fabric on 
The shoulders of a Syrian queen. 
It is expected by your friends and mine 
That I shall bring you back in truth a wife, 
Tbi go without you gives to evil tongues 
A moirsel rolled delightfully into 
A scandal jeweled off with ribaldry. 
And how can I defend myself and you? 
I'd have to put another face upom 
Full half the miugs oi that community 
And leave inheritance of woe to you. 

Augusta — I see yon take this matter seriously, 
And since you are the only manly hope 
Which I have left, here is my hand and all 
'I have of heart with it. 

B erring — Thy sweet words 
Are mincemeat to the jaw oi hunger, 
Flavored with the oil of Rhodium. 
Com^e, now. with friends 
For unction of the ceremony; 
Then to the bridal chamber, leaving them 
Behind. 

Exit all— End. 



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